Façade
by Netherworld
Summary: We follow Tevos and Aria, two Asari who weave their way into their respective influential circles throughout the long span of their lives. Everyone has to start somewhere, though, and the pair has more interesting stories to tell about their maiden years than one would ever imagine. Their paths cross more than once during the course of history, altering their lives forever.
1. Chapter 1

**AN:** So I know that starting another chapter-, plot- and character development- heavy story while already writing another is kinda a bad idea… Well, to hell with it. :D This thing has been rolling around my head ever since I wrote _In Retrospective_ and it won't leave me alone until I begin writing it.

Be warned, though. There will be kink, a **lot** of swearing and some gore, I expect. I'll make a mental note to mark the chapters with more… **morally questionable** content, but keep in mind that you've been warned. This is rated M for a very, very good reason. That being said, I also must warn you that this one will have a pretty slow build-up and won't be focused solely on the romantic/sexual relationship between our lovely couple.

For all of you geeks out there; I'll probably be making some small tweaks to the official timeline and maybe headcanon **slightly**, so don't go biting my head off. :P This is set in the same universe as _Siege and Surrender_ and _In Retrospective_, so you can expect some things to be explained here and vice versa. ;)

Also, since this is the type of fic with a lot of space for buffer/silly/plot-irrelevant chapters, prompts and/or ideas are welcome.

Have fun.^^

* * *

It was a ship of vaguely Salarian build, but it had seen so much battle and subsequent repairs that its distinguishing characteristics had all but disappeared. Its owners were a loose group of ruthless mercenaries, mostly Batarian with a few Turians scattered among them. They were still bickering about the stowaway they had found in the cargo hold just minutes before reaching Omega, when the vessel finally docked. Their leader, a Turian of unusually small stature, insisted on staring down his second in command even when what passed for security on that lawless rock boarded their ship. He barked a few choice words at the glaring Batarian before turning to face the pair of guards. They had come to collect the fee, of course. You paid for the dock, or they blasted you out their port without so much as a blink of an eye; the gangs of Omega were a truly cheery bunch.

When the Turian settled their payment he returned, his eyes still shooting daggers at anyone that dared open their mouth. When he was satisfied with the complete silence, he turned to the culprit, the instigator of their conflict; you see, for a group of guns for hire, they got along pretty well, and their boss hated it when they had a falling out. Not so much for the lack of good company, but rather because they did their jobs half-assed when they were sulking, pouting just like those fine strippers when you let it hang before their mouths.

"Well, sweet blue darling," he drawled, the sound of his subharmonics the only thing filling the air. His black eyes traveled across every inch of the svelte body in front of him, and his thoughts from just a moment ago returned. He was glad for the sturdy armor he was wearing, or it would've definitely showed. Who could blame him, really? The Asari kneeling on level with his crotch was a striking beauty, even for her species, and he hadn't had a proper woman in months, what with the raids out in the Terminus.

He reached out with a single talon, lifting her bowed chin so that she was forced to look at him. "What should we do with you, hmm?" his mandibles twitched as he pretended to contemplate the question.

"We could sell her," one of the Batarians piped in, his voice a little too enthusiastic for the Turian's liking. He cast a single lingering, menacing glance at the offender and uttered a firm 'no'. "We provide a respectable mercenary service, Grysshk. If you wish to join the slaving rings, you're free to leave," the Turian reprimanded his subordinate and then directed his attentions to the lithe Asari again. "So, what do you say, honey? Ever had any Turian?" his mandibles twitched excitedly at the prospect playing out in his mind. He was so entranced, in fact, that he never noticed when the blue-skinned woman moved.

She was astoundingly fast, swirling with the grace only an Asari could manage while wearing Biotic-dampening shackles. Back when they'd caught her, neither of them was prepared to take any chances; their species was renowned for strong Biotic powers for a good reason. They were also renowned for some other things that the mercenaries hadn't bothered to get ready for, however.

Martial training, for instance.

A sickening crush penetrated the slow-motion silence that had engulfed the group, and they watched, baffled, as their commander tumbled backward with a horribly broken jaw.

In the next moment, they were on their feet, panicked fingers clambering for their weaponry. There were eleven of them, but they had been standing too close and too loosely together to be able to react properly. In the sudden rush and commotion that ensued, the only thing that they managed to do effectively was to block each other's way. Two more fell when the Asari among them threw a couple of good kicks. One of the Batarians managed to land a glancing blow, but the hit only served to enrage the woman further; she spun on her heel and broke the mercenary's face on her knee, grinning with satisfaction as the sound of shattering bones filled the room.

"Fuckers," she smirked as her shackles fell apart, from the physical strain exerted upon them as well as from their sheer age; they'd never been used before. The very second the dampeners were off, all hell broke loose. With a mighty flash of blue, a massive Singularity erupted in the center of the small space, pulling in each and every one of her remaining captors.

The Asari was bouncing on the soles of her feet, smiling with giddiness. "Oh, you're such fun, the lot of you!" she exclaimed, her melodious laughter ringing off the walls. "But as much as I'd like to stay, I've a previous engagement," she winked at the swirling Turians and Batarians, a nigh innocent smile gracing her curled lips. "Ta ta!" she waved her fingers as she slipped out the airlock, only bothering to collect what little she had brought with her.

"Ah, the glory of mercenary transport," she sighed wistfully as she stepped on the sacred ground of Omega station. "Never fails," the Asari nodded to nobody in particular, far too satisfied with herself to acknowledge the few strange looks she received because of her excited demeanor.

* * *

"What do you mean I can't go in?" The young Asari tapped her foot on the floor, lifting one brow at the bouncer. "No go, lady," the towering Krogan never missed a beat. He even had the quad to yawn right in front of her! The annoying lack of hospitality on the famed piece of rock was beginning to grate on her nerves; and she had never been particularly known for them in the first place. The maiden huffed haughtily and turned on her heel, walking away with an air of arrogance that would make even a Salarian Dalatrass green with envy. The moment she rounded the corner, though, her shoulder sagged.

Her first day on Omega hadn't gone nearly as well as she had planned. The way she'd imagined it, she should've been sitting in one of the more comfortable niches in one of the more savory bars, preferably in one of the more reputable parts of the station. Not a single of her expectations had been fulfilled, however.

Instead, she was forced to wander what little portion of Omega she had access to, roaming aimlessly – which, in a place such as this, was probably a very bad idea – and eyeing the merchandise various traders had in stock. In comparison to what one could buy in Citadel space, the market of Omega was a veritable slice of heaven; if you were interested in all sorts of illicit goods, difficult-to-obtain pieces of equipment or even banned arms, Omega was the number one place.

But the woman who had come here in pursuit of adventure and a more interesting view of life didn't find that aspect of Omega all that appealing. _I mean, sure,_ she mused as she passed another well-stocked stall, ignoring the merchant's beckoning. _It'd be pretty neat to own some of this stuff,_ the maiden continued to ponder the subject, her eyes lingering on various objects about whose use she remained blissfully ignorant. It wasn't to last; she just didn't know it yet.

And then she glanced on her Omnitool and discovered, to her utmost horror, that she ought to find herself someplace to sleep. As if that shock wasn't enough, a subsequent tap on her shoulder nearly sent her into a spontaneous Biotic Warp. With a hand over her thundering heart, the Asari turned to face whoever had disturbed her in her ruminations.

It was a rangy Salarian with deep amber eyes that stared at her almost kindly, waiting for her to calm down. There were still blue sparkles of Biotics dancing against her skin as she searched the other's face, staring askance at the alien. Not only were female Salarians a rare sight outside their space, to see an armored one was considered extraordinary even when it came to their men. She didn't have to wait long, however, as the Salarian spoke, her voice warm.

"Calm down, girl. If I were out to hurt you, you'd already be dead," she winked at the blue-skinned Asari as if that would assuage her fears. Before the kid could break off into a run, the Salarian continued: "Anyway, enough with the jokes. Chief Pykoll would like to see you brought to Gewitter headquarters." Something in the tone of her voice left no doubt that she had no other choice, despite the words that the Salarian had used.

"I don't know who this 'Chief' Pykoll is, and I'm not going anywhere with **you**." While the Asari's response wasn't laced with blatant spite, there was a distinct tinge of contempt to her words.

"Look, honey, it's not an option," the Salarian remained uncharacteristically unfazed, considering the usual hyperactivity of her species – she was a female, though, so who knew? – and offered her a wolfish smile. It was **that** which finally made the Asari realize she was not talking to a simple underling to some of the smaller gangs of Omega. Her throat constricted, suddenly dry, but she kept her outward composure, choosing to retaliate with words.

"What does this Chief of yours want with me, anyway?" _Stalling has always worked out, hasn't it?_ the sweating maiden tried to reassure herself as she inched away from the slim Salarian.

"Please, girl, stop insulting me and embarrassing yourself," the woman dismissed her with a wave of her three-fingered hand, grasping her shoulder firmly with the other. The armor-clad fingers dug almost painfully into the exposed, bare flesh, and she was forced to listen to the Salarian's words as she led her into a narrow side-alley.

"It would be imprudent," the Salarian murmured in a brief display of her species' typical erudition, "if you were to disregard Chief's Pykoll's wishes, girl." She let go of her shoulder as she reached to the console in order to scan her retina. "Look," she continued once she ushered the Asari inside, "Gewitter is one of the more prominent mercenary companies in the Terminus. Chief is the Omega delegate, and he's... **quite** powerful," the pause in her speech only served to further establish the Asari's opinion of the Chief.

"I still have no idea what he wants with me," she reminded the Salarian as she led her through a complex system of half-abandoned apartments.

"Yeah, about that," for a moment, her guide stopped and offered her a lopsided grin, "You didn't seriously think you could do something like that and get away with it, right?" She clapped her charge's shoulder for good measure and nudged her onward.

"I've no idea what you're talking about," the blue-skinned alien responded, her brow furrowed in confusion and slight incredulity. "Are you sure you've got the right person?" she inquired when there was no response from the Salarian, but received a finger against her lips in lieu of an answer.

"Shh," murmured the woman as her hand reached for her pistol, silently arming it with incendiary ammo.

"Want it or not, there's your chance to prove yourself," she continued whispering as she offered the light SMG she was carrying as a spare to the Asari. "There's a couple of Mangara's thugs at the end of this corridor," she explained as she pushed some thermal clips into the hands of her charge. "You do know how to shoot a gun, right?" There was a brief flash of concern in the Salarian's warm eyes, but it disappeared as soon as the Asari nodded, smirking.

"You bet I can," her previous distrust and fear were all but forgotten as they leapt around the corner, the Salarian providing cover while the Asari threw a Pull to disorient the patrolling trio. The second they were airborne, she cast another Throw at them, thus effectively combining the two Biotic powers for an even more devastating impact.

"Nice going," her guide smiled approvingly and led her along, as if the encounter had merely been a brief, menial task to deal with; then again, on Omega that was probably **exactly** what it was.

"So?" the Asari elbowed her silent guide despite knowing the Salarian could scarcely feel anything through the armor. She responded anyway, offering the maiden a soft smile before speaking.

"I was talking about the show you put on back in the docks," the Salarian explained, her smile widening at the surprise in the Asari's eyes. She shook her head in amusement and patted the other woman on the shoulder, her tone **almost** patronizing. "You'll learn the ropes, no doubt. Until then remember that there's only one rule here on Omega; _Don't fuck around._ The second you pull some unsolicited bullshit... suffice to say you'll be sporting a neat hole between your eyes." Her guide nodded wisely, eyeing her with a stern glare. "Keep that in mind and you'll save yourself a world of trouble, girl," she warned her once again, for good measure, and then stopped in front of heavily reinforced alloy gates.

"Anyway, here we are," the Salarian clasped her shoulder as she called out: "This is the Urchin reporting. I've got the Kakliosaur." There was a brief silence on the other side of the door, and then, with a series of hisses and clicks, they slid open, revealing four armed guards pointing their guns at the pair. When they had made sure the couple was indeed the only thing on the outside, they lowered their weapons and let them in.

"Come on, Solus," one of them said to her guide, barely offering the Asari a glance. "Chief's waiting for his new prize." Finally, the Batarian deigned to look at her, his eyes sparkling when he realized just what a beauty today's culprit was. "And will he be pleased to see **this** one," the four-eyed alien smirked, ogling shamelessly.

The catcalls and appreciative whistles followed her all the way to the Chief's office.


	2. Chapter 2

"Well, well, well…"

A deep, flanging voice weaved through the air around her, caressing her tympanic membranes with the gentlest of trembles. An involuntary shudder ran along the Asari's body and she barely managed to suppress a shaky gasp. Her penetrating green eyes remained timidly trained on her suddenly engaging boots, even despite the not-so-gentle a nudge that she received from the Salarian behind her. She kept her gaze glued to the floor, unable to lift it even if she wanted to; she realized just how far out of her depth she had waded, diving straight into the deepest reaches of the lawless world. Instead of allowing herself to immerse in it step by step, like most sensible maidens were wont to do, she'd absconded from Thessia with little more than the clothes on her back and a silver tongue to get her by. As long as she had stayed within the borders of Council space, the 'crime' she would get involved with wasn't much more than petty theft and shenanigans she'd get up to with other Asari.

This was reality.

And she wasn't the least bit prepared for it.

Chief Pykoll who - perhaps because of experience, perhaps by way of innate talents - immediately guessed the source of the maiden's reluctance, rose to his feet. A good-natured grumble tumbled from the tall Turian's lips as he rounded his workdesk and approached the young Asari.

"Now, now, don't be afraid. I won't harm you. We're not that kind of people," he spoke, the subharmonics making his already deep voice even more soothing. He stood there, patiently waiting for the woman to raise her head and show her face. Despite his calm demeanor, Chief Pykoll was in truth very eager to examine the features of this newcomer.

Omega station was a damnably dangerous place, a cesspool of lawlessness and crime, and as such sired many a formidable individual. People who arrived on the notorious rock were mostly psychopaths, mercenaries, strippers or people seeking to become one of those; most of the newbies greatly overestimated themselves, however. They either died a quick death in the hands of an opportune thief, fell under the sway of Red Sand, Hallex or some other drug, or simply disappeared, never to be heard of again.

Every once in a while, though, the tidings would bring in a promising individual, one that from day one bore a distinct aura about them; those types were quickly approached by the warring gangs, each of them trying to persuade the person to join them. Every one of these potentials was an important asset in the ever-raging turf wars, and minor battles had erupted more than once when multiple gangs found themselves vying for the same person. Getting to such a promising individual first was always considered a thing that required skill, finesse and cunning; and Pykoll had them all.

The fact that most of the docks were on his turf notwithstanding, the Chief was still more than capable of seeking out these prodigies even when they moved out of Gewitter's main territory. This one Asari in particular usually gave the Chief a run for his money, but the Turian still had a couple of years of experience on the Asari Commando. Celia – far too innocent a name for such a bitch, really – was one tough boss, though. Her gang was comprised entirely of Asari, most of whom were also Commandos on one point or the other in their lives. That alone made them fierce adversaries in battle, and given the nature of Omega, their guerilla fighting methods proved to be a dominating advantage in almost any battle.

That was the reason that Pykoll had decided to piss on his pride in favor of keeping his people mostly alive and unharmed; he'd made a very hush-hush deal with the Commando leader. They had both agreed on equally sharing the promising individuals that arrived on Omega, and in case of emergencies even swore to come to aid. The definition of 'emergency' on Omega was far different than in most of the galaxy, however. Seeing as gunfight and strife were part of daily routine, only situations threatening the very existence of a gang or its headquarters was treated as an emergency. The deal had served the pair well over the years, in any case. It left both of them mostly satisfied and a united front compared to most of the other gangs who kept bleeding each other out. The only group who could be compared to Gewitter or Eternity Embraced was Mangara's gang; a motley crew of heartless, obdurate thugs, mostly krogan, who were an unstoppable force despite their small numbers.

While his alliance with Celia was tenuous and fragile at its best, it kept one of his flanks safe, and that was enough. The biggest danger of Omega was forgetting to look over your shoulder, however, so Pykoll never did completely abandon the watch-posts on the border with the Asari's territory; you could never be safe enough. Celia was renowned for her lack of loyalty to anyone and Chief was never one to trust blindly; **especially** if his ally's CV boasted numerous betrayals and back-stabbings. The sharing of the potential assets, however, was still the best upside to the whole deal, and it had come to bear fruits once again.

The fruit in question was still looking demurely at her feet, which, despite their prettiness, weren't **all** that interesting. Pykoll sighed softly, his mandibles twitching, and then took a step back.

"Very well, girl, we'll play this your way. I'll ask you simple questions, you answer them. How's that sound?" spoke the Turian after a few seconds passed in silence. The Asari nodded softly, shifting on the spot, but never lifting her gaze.

_Sweet Palavan, is she shy,_ Pykoll studied the composed Asari, leaning on his desk. He perused his usual questionnaire in his head, tracing what little of her features he could all the while. Finally, he started, his voice even and perhaps a tad warm. Who could tell?

"I saw what you did with the mercs on the ship, girl. You can either cut the timid act, or my people will kindly escort you to the next shuttle offworld."

The Asari before him had been expecting anything, anything but that. She had been prepared for a sudden assault, verbal barrage, harsh insults or rapid questioning; anything, but not that. Her breath hitched as she weighed her options. Her expectations – and the galaxy's views of Omega in general – had been greatly skewed, it seemed. Not only were its inhabitants scarily observant, they knew how to make a well-veiled, well-placed threat without employing any violence at all. The young maiden was impressed despite herself, and finally made a decision. She had come here with a reason, didn't she?

"I'll cut the crap, then," the Asari drawled, finally pulling her green eyes off the floor. She pinned the Chief with her penetrating gaze, a lopsided grin curling the edges of her lips. "What can I say? You got me, I'll give you that," she smirked, her posture easing almost immediately.

The Turian threw his head back in a barking laugh at the transformation that had taken place before his very eyes, amused beyond belief. There haven't been many recruits in a long time that had thrown the great Chief for a loop, but this Asari newcomer certainly did fit the bill. With a last dying chuckle, Pykoll smoothed his twitching mandibles and settled back on the desk.

"Now that we've gotten that straight, let's get to business, shall we?" his voice grew more serious as he pulled up a datapad, his eyes piercing hers with an icy glare.

"No more bullshit, understood," the Asari mock-saluted the stoic man and clicked her heels, straightening her back.

The Chief murmured something unintelligible under his breath as he browsed the contents of his datapad, seemingly unable to find the object of his search. "I think you're looking for this, sir," the Salarian piped up from behind her, bystepping the Asari and extending her hand to offer another datapad to the Turian. Pykoll's lips curled into a strange-looking sneer at the sight, but there was a small amount of gratitude in his voice when he thanked the mercenary, so the Asari was forced to conclude that the leer was a Turian's way of smiling.

"Thank you, Vitara," the subharmonics flared pleasantly in his tones as he took the datapad, never glancing away from the screen. A few moments passed in a pregnant silence, and then the interview began.

"Name?"

"Tempest."

The formality lasted all of five seconds, before Pykoll keeled over in a bellow. "Tempest?" he laughed, his voice flanging wildly. "You call yourself tempest, girl? Very well, very well," he shook his head, typing away at his Omnitool. "Your choice," he concluded with a slight shrug of his shoulders.

"Age?"

"102 years."

"Still a maiden, I see. Any previous mercenary jobs or affiliations?"

"None."

"Any training, perhaps? Those biotics were pretty impressive, even for an Asari,"

"I've had my share of Commando training, yes," the Asari replied, her voice only slightly apprehensive.

If the Chief had noticed it, he never showed it. Who could read Turian expressions, anyway? He only nodded to acknowledge her answer, and then moved on.

"Area of expertise?" He inquired lastly, and his blue eyes finally left the datapad in his hands. He was going to test her, of course, but it never hurt to see just what a view an individual had of their own prowess and abilities. It also told Pykoll a lot about their character, and he liked to know his people. Compared to the size of their turf, Gewitter was low on members, but they were all the more loyal and therefore much more capable. Infighting was almost nonexistent among his people, and that was mostly due to his careful assessment of their personalities. He always made sure that compatible folk worked together; it made not only for less conflict, but also for significantly better results. All in all, it was a win-win for the Chief.

"…Chief Pykoll?"

The voice of his second-in-command roused him from his musings and he smiled apologetically to the two women standing in front of him. "Could you repeat that for me, Tempest?" he quickly moved on, banishing the last of his stray thoughts.

"I said that I'm pretty neat with biotics, as you've so aptly noticed," the blue-skinned Asari grinned, showing off two rows of white teeth. "I can probably bash most of the stuff you encounter, and I do a lot of crowd control. Barriers aren't my thing, so don't give me any defensive positions. I suck at protecting people, really. Throw me into the fray, and you'll get your money's worth, though," she winked at the Chief, snapping her fingers with a loud _crack!_ to show off her biotics.

"Okay, that'll do. Don't tell me where to put you, though. I and Solus here decide that, and Remnih will be the boss of you until you show us what you're made of," he dismissed the arrogant Asari with a simple statement, finally demonstrating to the newcomer why everyone treated him with respect; he could inspire awe and instill authority with a single glance.

A small, satisfied smile sneaked past his composed features as he turned back to the Asari, though, and he patted her shoulder. "Don't worry, kid. If you're really as good as that show in the docks tells you are, you'll have no problems with the tests," he nudged the blue-skinned beauty towards his second-in-command, nodding to the Salarian. With a last meaningful glance, the two wordlessly agreed on the Asari's tests, and then the Urchin ushered the future mercenary out of Pykoll's office.

* * *

"Here's your gear, kid," the Salarian threw a neatly folded light armor on the bench next to the newbie, coming to a stop behind her back. "I trust you know how to put it on, **and** how to shoot a gun," her voice as well as her face were void of any expression, as if she were purposefully trying to unnerve her right before her tests.

Giving voice to her inner worries, Tempest softly asked: "What will I be going up against?"

She was only mildly scared, having reached a very sensible conclusion while suiting for the tests; Pykoll wouldn't throw anything **too** difficult at his recruits, because that would be a waste of resources, and Omega seemed like the kind of place where doing that was very, very foolish. Chief Pykoll might've been many things, but foolish certainly wasn't one of them, that much was obvious.

"The usual. A couple of diverse species, diverse fighting styles. Show us what you can do, show as that you can adapt, and you're in. If you can't…" the Salarian simply shrugged and stalked away, leaving in her wake a slightly disconcerted Tempest.

"Well, to hell with it," the maiden rose to her feet, checking the buckles of her armor for the last time. Considering it was training gear, the suit was in a very good shape, and somehow that reassured the Asari. It meant that the tests weren't too hard. Right?

With a sigh, the blue-skinned woman strapped a spare SMG to her waist and stepped out the door with a fully loaded assault rifle in her hands, a grin on her face. She was going to fight this, she was going to win it and she was damn well going to **enjoy** it as well.

Truth be told, she did look intimidating when she stepped into the training chamber, skin dancing with gentle blue sparks as she strolled into the center of the room. Her eyes assessed her barren surroundings, noting every nook and dent in the once-flawless alloy surface. It was obvious that the chamber had seen many an intense fight go down, if the scorch marks on the walls were anything to go by. Tempest's eyes narrowed at the sight, her heartbeat slowly peaking; nothing was happening, and she was all fuelled up. She hated the silence and the lack of movement; it made her crests tingle with suspicion and a sense of dread.

Her cerulean skin was mostly covered by the sleek plates of her light armor, but the suit did nothing to diminish her feminine figure. To anybody that was watching, the sleek curves of her body underneath the hardened layers appeared even more appealing, if anything. A wrapped gift is always more enticing than a naked one, strippers liked to say. They were right, too, but it mattered little to the Asari at the moment. The soft features of her face were marred by concern and her pale green eyes kept darting around the room, wary of any sign of activity. The red marks along the sides of her forehead and her cheekbones were furrowed in the Asari's attempt at awareness, but one can only keep watch on an entire room for so long. When creased like that, the crimson tattoos resembled thunderbolts even more than usually, supporting the woman's claim to the name 'Tempest'.

Her only warning was the soft creaking of oiled joints, and she barely had time to throw herself to the side as a small, nimble figure dropped onto her from above. The attacker missed her with only a few centimeters to spare, already rolling onto his feet again. Even as Tempest retreated, she already kept her rifle trained on the assailant, firing at him with powerful bursts. The man moved like a very skilled dancer, however, and was already far away by the time that the bullets reached his previous spot. He was slippery like those damn pet fish that her mother used to keep in their aquarium at home; one could never catch them, no matter how hard one tried. Unless one utilized biotics, of course.

When Tempest figured out her strategy, her shots became more purposeful, her movement determined; she had a plan, and it didn't bode well for her attacker. The man was still too good and to agile for her to corner him, but she did manage to drive him against a wall; it was all she needed.

In the very instant that her opponent lunged away from the spray of bullets, a small singularity erupted out of thin air, appearing directly in front of him. The man had too big a momentum to change his course now, and once the pull of singularity got a hold on him, he was incapacitated.

Tempest let her adversary float around helplessly for a few more satisfying seconds before letting him drop on his ass, hitting the alloy floor with an unpleasant _thud_. She smirked at the man as he bowed to her and scurried off before she changed her mind.

She barely got a minute of respite before the next test began, signified by the typical hiss of opening doors. The Asari turned on her heel to face her new opponents, all blood draining from her face when she realized who had come to beat the lights out of her.

"Goddess," Tempest breathed out, green eyes filled with an onslaught of fear.

* * *

**AN:** Thank you for the support.^^ I'll try to update this fic as often as my schedule allows. Things will be slow for a week or so, since I've finals to waddle through, but then I'll probably put up a chapter or more a week, if all goes as planned.

Hope you're enjoying this thus far, because I certainly am! :D Writing plotty stuff is a completely new experience to me, so any advice and reviews are appreciated, as always. Have fun.^^

- Nether


	3. Chapter 3

The problem with being an Asari Commando – or **ex**-Asari Commando, if you want to nitpick the issue – is that while you know their tactics to boot, so do they. Their fighting styles are feared precisely because no-one really knows what to expect. There are some general outlines, sure; like, say, mind-blowing biotics and sniper ambushes where you'd least expect them, but that's it. There aren't that many squads of Commandos either, compared to the Asari that take up different jobs. It isn't even that strange, even, considering they've always been the diplomatic backbone of the Council space, famed both for their peace-brokering skills as well as candy-coated deals. The occasional member of their species, however, decided to join the military; or, as it was in Tempest's case, was enlisted due to their early manifestation of biotic prowess.

Her troubles plaguing her at the moment remained the same, however. Facing one that had received the same or greater amount of training as herself had always been challenging for Tempest, despite her predisposition for biotics. She was a talented and devoted student, but had left the Academy before fulfilling her training, and knew that it left her at a significant disadvantage when her opponents had finished the course.

Her momentary hesitation was enough for one of the two Asari to close in and hit her with a powerful stasis field, successfully preventing any offensive reaction. The blue ripples suddenly ensconcing her woke Tempest from her stupor, but it was already too late.

The other Commando had stalked to their helpless prey in the meantime, taking her time with languid steps; obviously the blue-skinned Asari thought she'd already won, if the smirk on her face was of any indication. She paused before the hovering captive, lifting her left hand to show off the orange blade sprouting out of her Omnitool.

"Shit," Tempest cursed aloud and went with her body's instincts, flexing just the right muscles to exercise those nodules of eezo. With a volatile detonation, the stasis field flickered away into nothing, and Tempest met the floor, face first. She was the luckiest of the trio, seeing as the other two Asari were blown into the wall at the far end of the room, having lacked the protection of the stasis field.

"Clever girl, using a Warp on yourself," said the first one, her voice silken and hoarse, caressing her eardrums like the guilty pleasures of Ilium. The other Commando rose to her feet as well, hands already burning with blue biotics. She didn't look half as amused as her partner, her face grim and determined.

_Okay, take the surly one out first,_ Tempest made a mental note as she dodged a sloppily aimed Warp. The Commando that had a slightly lighter hue to her skin seemed far more intent on actually killing her – or a at **the very least** breaking a few bones -, while the other one looked like she was in it for the fun rather than for the fight.

Even as she was assessing her situation, the future mercenary was deftly moving across the treacherous alloy floor that was filled with all sorts of crannies and nooks for various parts of your boots to catch at. Frowning at it wouldn't help in any way, however, so Tempest concentrated on evading the persistent Throws from the first Asari, rather than lamenting about something she couldn't change. In fact, she was sure that Pykoll had left the room destroyed like that on purpose; it gave his trainees a feel for the real terrain of Omega, as well as testing their ability to adapt.

Grudgingly, Tempest was forced to admit to herself that the Turian had displayed quite the intelligence so far. She still couldn't fathom how someone as tactically skilled would leave the Turian military, however; but those were musings for another time. Perhaps when she wasn't neck deep in biotic battles?

When a Singularity spawned mere meters away, the woman decided she'd had enough. With a powerful Charge, she hurled herself across the room and straight into the aggressive Commando, effectively knocking her off her feet and stealing her air as well. Before the Asari could recover from the massive blow to her plexus, the other woman was already upon her, hitting her solidly across her temple with the butt of her assault rifle. Her adversary's eyes rolled back and her body slumped beneath her, earning a satisfied grin from Tempest.

Her satisfaction didn't last very long, because a strong hand wound itself around her neck, pulling her off the unconscious Commando and suspending her in the air.

"And here I thought you'd play nice," a low voice ground in her ear as the arm pressing on her windpipe flexed cutting off some of her air. Black spots started swimming into the flailing Asari's vision, but she blinked them away with sheer willpower. She refused to go down like this, taken from behind and **strangled**, of all things.

She arched her back and tensed her muscles, kicking back powerfully with both her legs. Even if she hadn't hit the exact soft spot she'd been going for, the effect was incapacitating enough for her to get scramble from the other woman's grasp. She tumbled to the floor, but instead of meeting the metal once more, she fluidly transformed her fall into a roll, jumping on her feet a safe distance away from the keeling Asari.

A long strain of profanities that even a Krogan would blush at left the Commando's lips as she brought one hand onto the wall to support herself. The biotics-augmented kick to her belly certainly wasn't good for her future kids, but that was the Asari's last concern at the moment. She never did plan on having kids, did she? Who would want the spoiled brats anyway? The sex she could and **would** gratefully engage in, but bearing a child?

The ex-Commando shook her head and stroked her fingers through her crests. "I'll show you kicks, you little cunt," the Asari growled, her body alight once more.

* * *

Despite her initial assessment of the darker-hued Asari, the woman put her through her gears much more than the first one. The Commando was deceptively spry and agile, leaving Tempest huffing and angry, always one step behind. Finally, her plan bore fruits, however, and she did manage to tire out her opponent, who was wearing significantly heavier armor than herself and therefore fatigued more quickly.

Not that Tempest was feeling all that fresh, mind you. In fact, the ache in her muscles was letting her know just how much she'd been neglecting the necessary exercise.

_Still, nothing to be done about it now,_ she grimly reminded herself as she dragged two unconscious Asari to the exit of the chamber. She'd downed the more persistent one when she'd stopped to catch her breath, leaving a minute gap in her barriers; just enough for Tempest to push through a small Singularity.

Thinking back to that moment, a proud smile stretched the Asari's lips as she dumped the two heavy forms on the other side of the door, dusting her hands against her armor. Her reaction time had been amazing, considering how much energy she'd already expended with biotics by then. Her gaze traced up the walls of the chamber and to a camera that sat there, calmly perched in the corner. Tempest huffed at the machine, but quickly returned her eyes back to the entrance when she heard a commotion.

"Seriously? You haven't had enough?" she bellowed to no-one in particular as a Turian came in, armored from head to toe and shooting at her from the moment the doors had slid open. The first few bullets were absorbed by her armor, but by then the Asari had already erected her barrier, effectively soaking the rest of the damage. She ducked to the side and kept zigzagging across the room, staying as far from the Turian as possible.

At the same time, however, she knew full well that she had to concentrate on the arms she was carrying on her. She had all but exerted herself with biotics – foolishly so, when she looked back – and had to conserve her strength for whatever was to come after the trigger-happy mercenary. She knew that the man was going to be trouble, seeing as Turians were raised into a militaristic lifestyle from birth onwards.

When a couple more bullets disintegrated in her shimmering blue protection, Tempest chose to retaliate.

With an enraged scream tearing from her parched lips, she unleashed the terror of her assault rifle upon the unsuspecting Turian. In a matter of milliseconds, she had the man running around the chamber, grinning maniacally all the while. Oh, she could understand the people who went mad from killjoy. She could, how she could.

But she just wasn't made for it. Instead of eviscerating the poor Turian with her hail of bullets, she led him to trip in one of the indents on the floor, stopping him in his track for long enough to haul him out of the arena by his flailing foot.

When the Turian was rid of, she stalked back to the center of the chamber and faced the camera, shaking a finger at its lens. "That's it, you hear me!" she ordered in her best demanding tone, squinting her green eyes at the man she was sure was watching on the other side. Not that she was expecting an answer, anyway, but it never hurt to try. The Chief seemed like a reasonable man back in the office. There was the slight chance of him faking it, and this whole charade was just some elaborate show put up for the wealthier dignities that liked to satisfy the more depraved of their cravings in the safe anonymity of Omega.

With a sigh, she dismissed the thoughts that had begun to wander to strange places, focusing instead on the hiss of the doors. **Again.** "By the Goddess," the Asari murmured, shifting her weight from one foot to another. She'd been up and going ever since that debacle in the docks, and her nutrition on the stowaway voyage from Ilium to Omega hadn't exactly been the healthiest. As if to remind her of that, her stomach acted up grouchily, making its dissatisfaction known not only to its owner, but also to the new – and hopefully the last – challenger of the day.

"Aw, crap," Tempest pinched the bridge of her nose and squeezed the handle of her trusty assault rifle more firmly.

Backlighted by the neon signs on the outside of the chamber, there, in the doors, stood the Urchin. The Salarian hadn't even bothered to alter her attire or bring additional armament. That alone told the Asari just how high an opinion the Chief's second-in-command had of her. Her pale green eyes narrowed at her implied harmlessness and her body lit up in threat, as if she were little more than an animal showing its strength before a potential contestant for its territory.

Her opponent never moved a muscle as her big amber eyes stared her down, assessing every inch of her spent body. The Asari grew more uneasy under the scrutiny by the minute, itching to get away from the piercing glare. It felt like seconds stretched into minutes as they kept looking at each other, the Salarian never blinking. Not once.

Tempest swallowed, hard, and suddenly found she had sweaty fingers. She **also** discovered why the alien was Pykoll's second-in-command. Sure, she'd trained under one of the most ruthless trainers on the Academy, but even Marjolaine Kero wasn't as intimidating as this Salarian mercenary. "Shit," she muttered under her breath, every muscle, every tendon in her body twitching from strain of readiness.

"Shit, shit, shit," her eyes grew wider as the Salarian calmly reached to the SMG strapped to her utility belt, her three fingers wrapping around the weapon with expert ease borne with years of constant use. While the passage of time had seemed slowed to a null to the maiden, in reality, she only had time to react for a split-second.

Her training kicked in, thankfully, and she had thrown herself to the side just in time for the shots to miss her. _How in fuck's name did she manage to do that?_ The Asari wondered in awe as she rolled to the side again, another spray of bullets missing her by a scale's breadth. She kept avoiding the Salarian's aim, feeling very much like the Turian she'd pursued earlier. It was…deeply unpleasant, she decided. In view of that, the only course of action was to end it; so that's what she set out to do.

Planning something in her mind and then actually executing that plan were two different things, however, and when a couple of slugs found their way into her armor, Tempest learned that the hard way. "Shit!" she exclaimed again, ducking to the left and erecting a temporary barrier to shield herself from another round of bullets. The Salarian wasn't getting tired at all, and playing Krogan and Pyjak with her some more didn't seem like the proper way to do that. The only way she could think of taking the incessant Salarian down was getting in close; and for that, she'd have to call upon her biotics.

**Again.**

_Well, fuck me,_ Tempest shrugged and lunged into Charge with a desperate flare of her blue biotics.

* * *

Her vision flickered back, but it was still blurry and riddled with white and black spots. Moreover, everything seemed slightly askew and shaky. "…the fuck?" she questioned, but the words came out slurred and intelligible.

"There, there," a soft voice soothed her from above, accompanied by the gentle pressure of a hand on her shoulder.

As her immediate memories sprung back to mind, the Asari grabbed the invading appendage, twisting it at the wrist. To her surprise, she met skillful resistance, and her grip was easily averted. The owner of the hand chuckled and lathered the side of her face with the cool texture of Medi-gel.

"Aw, crap. Crap!" the Asari exclaimed when it finally dawned upon her. She pieced together the freshest of her memories and her surroundings, and came to the only logical conclusion.

"Am I in the Gewitter's medbay?" she muttered, flinching in pain when her face burned at the motion.

"Quite right, darling," said the same soft voice as before, and then a Salarian face came into her field of vision. "Now, don't be alarmed," the woman said, her tone gaining a sterner note when her patient growled, "I realize it was my sister who beat the shit out of you, but you'll find that you aren't by far the first she's sent into my care." The Urchin's sister sighed ruefully, shrugging as if it couldn't be helped.

"In any case, it isn't so bad," she smiled a reassuring smile at the Asari on her table, patting her shoulder again. "Compared to her usual victims, you're actually pretty lucky; or skilled, your choice. Whatever it was, you should be up and running in a day or so," she winked at Tempest, who was still looking at the female Salarian in disbelief.

"Hey, wait!" she called behind the retreating doctor, catching her hand.

"What is it, honey?" the woman inquired, her brow furrowing in concern. "Is something wrong?"

The Asari was surprised to see genuine care in the Salarian's eyes, but decided to stow that question away for later; she had more immediate queries pestering her. "What happened after I," her blue skin flushed with violet when she remembered **that** particular incident, "**met** the wall?" she finished apprehensively. Her expression must've been amusing, because the doctor chuckled again, shaking her head at her patient.

"You really are something, aren't you? Pykoll was right," the Salarian said, still smiling. When that seemed to confuse the Asari even further, she elaborated. "He said he'd put you through your paces, since you did away with those mercs in the docks so nicely. But he hasn't pitted any recruit against my sister in quite some time. He really must see something in you, kid. Don't waste the chance," she finished on a serious note, giving the Asari a long, meaningful glare.

"Be warned, though. Not everyone on Omega is as honorable as he is. In fact, most of its inhabitants are scum through and through. Take that into account when you start working for him. I sincerely hope you have the guts, though. I don't have the time nor the patience to deal with another kid suffering a mental breakdown after seeing the horrors this station has to offer," the doctor's gaze lost focus as she recalled some past event, her hand still resting ever so softly atop Tempest's shoulder.

The Asari, whose jaw had by now started hurting to the point that she couldn't speak, simply nodded to acknowledge the Salarian's advice, and watched the doctor leave to attend to her other patients.

_What curious people,_ she mused as she followed the retreating woman with her green eyes until her back disappeared behind a doorframe. _Perhaps I was right to come here after all. It seems like a land of new opportunity,_ her thoughts trailed forth as her eyelids dropped, sweet sleep claiming her.

_And that is what I desperately need._


	4. Chapter 4

**AN:** As promised, I'm marking this chapter, since it contains some explicit-ish gore. Depends on what you perceive as gore, really, but I'd rather be on the safe side. There's not much of it, but still.

Enjoy anyway, and as always, feedback is appreciated. :)

* * *

"So this is the chick who tried headbutting the Urchin?" somebody called out the moment her foot stepped in the mess.

_Well, so much for anonymity,_ the Asari thought bitterly as she ignored the string of insults and humiliating whistles. Her fists clenched and relaxed a few times when particularly degrading jibes were thrown her way, but she kept going. She stopped at the counter and tried, desperately, to school her emotions. She'd be damned if she gave in to those insignificant, sorry fuckers.

_Soon, you'll see,_ the sweet taste of vendetta flourished uncalled on her palate, but she accepted it without hesitation, relishing its flavor. _I'll show all of you bastards what I'm capable of,_ her eyes narrowed at the images running through her mind, but she managed to force a half-hearted smile on her face when the cook dropped a scoop of a colorless ration amalgam on her plate.

"Yum," she studied the slop before her for a few more seconds before seeking out a relatively unoccupied table. She had hoped for a moment of peace, but no such luck. Almost the second she sat down, a couple of other recruits pulled up their own chairs.

"Was your father a Krogan?" the braver of the pair asked, smirking smugly. Obviously he thought that the insult was **oh so original** and had never been used before. The Asari simply arched her brow and continued to carry the full spoon in her mouth; at least the glop was just as tasteless as it looked.

"Aw, come on, blue," the other piped up now that his comrade had stuck out his head to the proverbial sniper. "No need to play hard to get. We're all friendly here, you know. Helps with the synchronization in the field," he winked, grinning even more idiotically than his friend. Tempest was seconds away from throwing the lunch goo into their collective cretinism, but thought better of it. She was still a tad weak from being confined to the bed for a whole week, and she needed all the nutrients she could garner from the rations. Thus she kept on scooping up the muck and swallowing it, valiantly trying not to think about the delicious fruit she used to eat back on Cyone, all those years ago when she was still a child. The thought of what they used to serve in the Academy mess remained a bright reminder of how much worse it could've been, though; there, they weren't nearly as generous as to actually make the mixture eatable.

The Asari shivered with disgust at the memory, and suddenly the stuff on her plate didn't seem half as bad. _It's all in the perspective,_ she thought mock-cheerfully, cleaning off the last remnants of her lunch. As she rose to leave, a brash hand landed on her arm, fingers digging into her sore flesh all too possessively. Her reaction was immediate; the Asari spun on her heel and shoved her elbow in the gut of a poorly prepared Batarian. The alien doubled over in sudden pain and Tempest trotted off with a small, albeit smug a grin perched on her lips; at least she'd gotten **some** satisfaction.

The rest of the mess fell silent as they watched on, intent on seeing what would happen next. The Asari and her assailant stood bare meters apart – a distance that mattered little if they chose to start a fight – and regarded one another with unveiled aggression in their eyes. The Asari let her Biotics flare suggestively, showing the Batarian just what he was in for should he decide to engage her.

Finally, it seemed, the man picked the smarter option and walked away with an indignant huff. _What a butthurt diva,_ Tempest thought with a derisive snort, shaking her head at the drama queen. She should've smacked him once around the eyes for good measure; maybe that would've shown him who he was **really** dealing with.

The whole room released a breath they didn't know they were holding, and the crowd dispersed when it became apparent that no fun will be had in the mess. The Asari left with a parting glare, shooting the Batarian's comrades a last warning glance before she stalked away, not even bothering to glance back.

* * *

Just as she'd been asked to, the freshly anointed recruit reported to her field commander, a Batarian that went by the name of Remnih. He was tall and burly for his species, and carried an aura about him that made him appear even more looming than he already was. To add to the curiosity, the Batarian even had facial markings, which were considerably rare among his people. His skin was a dark shade of red, maroon even, but was littered with bright white speckles running across the ridges of his four brows and along the cresting on his head. He truly was a sight to behold.

When the alien cleared his throat and chuckled easily, the Asari realized she must've been staring unabashedly, and her cerulean skin was suddenly awash with violet. Feeling uncharacteristically sheepish, she pulled her gaze away from the towering commander. The man laughed aloud and clasped her on the shoulder, the firm grip of his strong hand nearly throwing her off balance. The Batarian grinned at her and then rounded his desk, settling in the chair behind it.

"I saw your fights," he spoke, his four eyes peering at her with curiosity. There was no question in his words, just a simple statement laced so heavily with accent that the translator in her ear crackled with strain. The Asari's brow creased at the sound, but as long as she got the gist of what the Batarian was telling her, it would be fine. She made a mental note to upgrade the software; or, better yet, buy a new one altogether. The black market on Omega looked like a good place to find high-tech at a reasonably low price, just as long as you could point your gun right and spew out threats convincingly enough. Since the company she'd been keeping of late did nothing but improve her skills in that area, Tempest was more than sure of her bargaining ability.

Her thoughts returned to the matter at hand and her green eyes focused on the field commander again, returning his inquisitive gaze. Finally, not able to bear the silence no more, the Asari asked: "Was there something you wanted from me?" The Batarian's lips curled up in a wicked smile, and he shook his head.

"Just checking to see how long you'd be able to stay quiet," he drawled again, and Tempest leaned in closer to aid her chugging translator. _By the Goddess,_ the recruit lamented briefly before pushing the thought aside; she had better things to occupy herself with.

"In any case, Asari, you've been assigned to my team. As I said, I saw you fight, and you obviously pack a good punch. That's fine with me. Pykoll made a few notes about your supposed expertise," at this, the lower pair of his eyes glanced at the datapad he was clutching in his hands, "but we'll see about that. I'd like to witness how you handle yourself in a real fight." Tempest opened her mouth in protest, but the Batarian, seeing her intent, lifted a finger to stop her.

"Now, now, blue," he chastised, shaking his finger with disapproval, "learn your place. Anyway, **as I was saying**, a tough sparring is completely different to life-and-death situations. And since Pykoll gives me free hands with my squads, you won't be complaining to anyone," he shut her down even before she could get a single word in. _The nerve of the man!_ Her eyes flashed with anger and she bit her lip to suppress the violent onslaught of choice profanities she wanted to regale the Batarian with.

"What would you have me do, then?" she ground out instead, forcing herself not to react. The more rational part of her suspected that this was just some elaborate way Pykoll assessed his recruits even after he had them take the test. A soldier's psyche was, after all, an important factor when it came to battles, and logically, she could see why he wouldn't want unstable or volatile people on his team. Or why he **would** want them, on that note. Mercenary groups didn't exactly function like military, and being stark raving mad didn't necessarily rob you of recruitment chances. Quite on the contrary, actually. Many a gang sported their craziest members as their front-runners or mascots; sometimes even as their leaders, Goddess forbid. All in all, mercenaries didn't eschew the maniacs like official service did, and that had made a difference in many a skirmish.

Her field commander kept gazing at her with open curiosity and intrigue in his four eyes, as if he were still trying to place her. Finally, with a sigh, he gave up and threw her a datapad. "Here's all the info you need. We meet at the east entrance tomorrow at five hundred hours, so be prepared. Go to bed early, catch some shut-eye. No, I don't give a shit if your face is still broken; as long as you can provide that Biotic bite, you're fine. No questions? Great, off you go," he dismissed her with a wave of his hand, mind already somewhere else.

The Asari stood there for a few more seconds, clearly unused to being treated that way. Both the Urchin and Chief Pykoll had showed her a modicum of respect, but this Batarian quite possibly didn't even know the concept existed. When the man in question made a shooing sound and waved his hand at her once more, Tempest huffed and took her leave with a frown marring her beautiful features, her mind churning.

She was so absorbed that she never noticed how quickly she was striding until it was too late. When she rounded a corner with dizzying speed, her still aching body collided with a hard surface yet again, protesting the torture with pangs of burning pain in her side. "Aw, shit," the Asari cursed under her breath as she scrambled to her feet, eager to get away before her unknowing victim could recognize her.

It seemed that luck was purposefully steering clear of her that day, however, as the other mercenary eyed her with warm brown eyes devoid of anger. "Solus, ma'am," she saluted awkwardly, completely unsure what to do or say. "I'm sorry, I wasn't watching my step-" she hurried on, flushed, but the Salarian interrupted her kindly

"Don't sweat it, kid," she smiled at the embarrassed Asari and patted her shoulder. It was funny, really, how a creature more than twice as old as her could still be so…child-like. The impressive display of Biotics that Tempest had given them the other day was far from that, of course, but emotionally, an Asari maiden was still barely out of her teens. The Urchin, on the other hand, was well into her twenties already, at her very pinnacle, so to speak.

Vitara Solus shook her head at the impossible genetics the galaxy would come up with, and returned her attention to their newest recruit. "I take it you've already met Remnih, then," she directed the words at the Asari, and moved out of the other woman's personal space, gesturing at the datapad the other woman was still holding.

Tempest shook her head, bemused. _Does everyone here speak in statements?_ She wondered briefly before answering the Salarian's almost-question. "Yes, I have. He's very… impressive," the Asari concluded, deliberately choosing a neutral adjective. She really didn't know where her field commander stood with the higher-ups, and it would be colossally stupid of her to make an enemy out of the towering Batarian the very day she'd first met him.

"A nice way of putting it, that's for sure," the Urchin let out a dry laugh. "He's something, alright. Don't let his tough act fool you, though," she winked at the recruit, the edges of her lips curling up ever so slightly. "He's a good guy at heart; For a Batarian, anyway. He just… takes his time with placing trust in newbies. Not that I blame him," Pykoll's second-in-command shrugged her shoulders. "He almost lost his whole squad once when he gave a newcomer an important role. Ever since then…" the Urchin let her words hang in the air, her sentence unfinished but perfectly understandable.

"I'll keep that in mind then. Thank you, ma'am," Tempest nodded her head and was about to leave, when the Salarian stopped her. "Hey, cut the rank, kid. This isn't military, and I don't give a flying fuck about your previous training. People will just get annoyed over that, and eventually someone **will** try to shoot you for it," she warned the Asari, the tone of her voice dead serious. The Asari held her gaze for a few motionless seconds, than thanked the Salarian and hurried forth before she could get herself into any more embarrassing situations. The day had already been ghastly, and she didn't like the idea of it getting any worse. To prevent possible future disasters, Tempest headed for the crew quarters where she'd be staying now that she had finally gotten herself out of medbay.

The room wasn't particularly spacious, but what else could you expect when enlisting with an Omega gang? The quarters weren't that small either, and certainly bigger than what they were forced to live in back at the Academy. Even the beds looked slightly more comfortable than the bare slabs the Asari Commandos would sleep on. _I like this upgrade,_ Tempest mused as she wove her way amid the tightly packed bunks. Many were already occupied, both by disposed possessions and sleeping forms, and the Asari was surprised at the varied aliens that lay on the beds. She'd been expecting mostly uniform species, a few others thrown in, but nothing like this. Not that it bothered the woman; had she been surrounded only by Batarians, the prospect of joining would've become significantly less appealing.

In one of the last rooms, she finally found a partially free bunk. The upper bed was already occupied, but Tempest was perfectly satisfied with the lower one; as long as she got to sleep **somewhere**, it was fine. With little ceremony, the Asari dropped her thin backpack on the mattress before following it gratefully. She was still hurting all over and the chance encounters during the course of the day had done nothing to improve her health. Considering she'd be going out on patrol the first thing in the morning, she needed all the strength she could get.

With a sigh, she let her limbs sprawl out on the unexpectedly soft sheets and closed her eyes. During her days in the Academy, they've taught her how to fall asleep in almost any situation, be it standing or upside-down, in movement or banged up. Seeing as she was lying on a sinfully supple bed, the Asari was out of it before she even had a chance to yawn.

* * *

"Hey, blue, wake up!" Someone yelled loudly in her ear, yanking her from her sleep.

"Fuck," spilled from the recruit's lips as she lunged from the bed; suddenly it wasn't so bad she'd fallen asleep fully clothed. The curses never ceased as she grabbed her backpack and jogged after the Asari who had stirred her up. Pleasantly awoken by the time the pair reached the rest of the group, Tempest murmured a thank you to her bunkmate and came to a standstill beside the other recruits. Remnih was pacing in front of their small squad – six people or so – glancing down at his Omnitool every once in a while. It seemed that something had unsettled the field commander; whether it was the tardiness of his subordinates or some other reason, Tempest did not know. Everyone stood there in complete silence, the sound of the Batarian's boots clicking on the alloy floor the only thing filling the quietude. Whenever someone shifted on their feet, the commander shot them a dirty look, as if daring them to do it again.

Goddess knew how many minutes they passed like that until Remnih gave up and glared at his charges once again. "Very well. It seems that recruits Petri and Gorrsh won't be joining us," he ground out between his teeth and made a note on his Omnitool. "Others, move out!" he yelled with an authoritative voice, narrowing his four eyes at the passing squad.

What with the artificial lighting down in the deep reaches of Omega, the hour didn't really matter. Most beings, however, were still used to the biorhythm of their home planets, and thus preferred to carry out most of their activities during the "daytime". Most space-stations and other synthetic environments had cycles that consisted of approximately 30 hours, give or take a few. A little over half was allotted to "daytime", and the remaining hours would serve as "night". Cyone, the planet Tempest had spent her childhood on, had a 39 hour day, but living in the Academy for more or less 40 years had made her more accustomed to the 27-hour-period. In any case, those little differences didn't matter much as they started their morning prowl, stalking through the demolished alleys and shafts of Omega.

Remnih was surprisingly light on his feet, considering his sheer size and muscle-mass; in complete defiance of gravity, the field commander nearly **tiptoed** in front of the patrol, moving without a sound. The rest of the squad tried, and failed, to follow their leader just as softly. Despite their best efforts, there was always a broken piece of railing, an odd corpse or a stray pile of trash; whatever had snuck onto their path, one of the recruits managed to bump against it. It annoyed the Batarian to no end, but after the tenth attempt, even he stopped spitting comments across his shoulder, apparently finding the practice useless.

Their patrol was, all in all, mostly uneventful. Tempest got a chance to observe the full span of pollution and the complete lack of government that ruled rampant on Omega. She saw firsthand the poor conditions most residents of the station lived in, the crime, the mire and the filth of it all. Compared to what the Asari was used to, Omega was a cesspool of depravity and sin, a fertile breeding ground for any and all who found the life of debauched egoism enticing. There were strippers at every corner, even at this ungodly hour – or perhaps **because** of it – beckoning to the squad under Remnih's command. While a few were sorely tempted, one stern look from the Batarian convinced the recruits just how foolish their notions were, and averted any further attempts.

It was nearly six hundred hours already when they neared their border with one of the smaller gangs, the Eclipse. It had been founded not long ago, Remnih explained to his people quietly as they moved among the scattered debris. He went on to elaborate that the mercenary group was comprised mostly of rogue Salarians and Lystheni, their aggressive off-shots that the Salarian union never tolerated in Council space. Due to their species' lower physical strength and increased mental prowess, their tactics were usually well thought out and frustratingly ingenious. To compensate for their lack of power, the Eclipse liked to rely on various mechs that could keep an eye on the perimeter like no organic could. All that taken into account made them a new, but no less dangerous enemy they had to be cautious of.

They were almost past the outer margin of Gewitter's territory, when a single, loud shot went off. Everyone immediately dropped or threw themselves to cover, but it was already too late. A Batarian just a few paces away found himself bleeding out in a matter of seconds, his yellowish blood splashing across the floors.

Tempest had dived behind the nearest piece of rubbish that looked like it could stop bullets, but her cover was nowhere near perfect. All of her senses were dictating her to get her crap out of there and find somewhere safer to hide, but she banished the thoughts and fired up her Biotics. Her eyes scanned her immediate surroundings for anything or anyone useful, and suddenly she met the focused gaze of their field commander.

"There are three behind light cover and two mech snipers on the beams overhead!" he shouted above the sound of gunfire, knowing full well what kind of information the Asari was looking for. The Biotic smirked in response and composed herself. Usually, she didn't have to do much thinking to deliver the blue destruction, but the recent thrashing she'd received wasn't helping her concentrate at all, and her nerve endings still weren't as responsive as she would've liked. Nonetheless, the blue-skinned woman flared up, peeked from behind the upturned engine she'd been using for cover and cast a Pull at the group hiding behind a pile of crates.

The instant they were exposed, heavy fire reined on the trio, decimating their armor in the blink of an eye and turning their flesh into a messy pulp that hit the rust and dirt below with wet sounds.

Tempest ignored the bile rising in her throat and rolled to the side, avoiding a poorly-aimed missile. The projectile hit one of the other recruits instead, splattering his blue blood all over the place. A young Quarian to her left vomited into the corner, obviously not accustomed to such grisly encounters. Tempest pinched her brow as she slid lower behind the engine, trying to stay off the mech's radar. They probably had IR vision anyways, but it didn't hurt to try; and besides, everything was so heated up from the rocket launchers that they probably had a few seconds' window.

"Get it together," she ground out between her teeth as she slapped the Quarian across her back offering her the butt of her spare SMG. "And here I thought that Pykoll only took in **capable** people," she muttered under her breath as she loaded her assault rifle. Throwing a chance glance over the engine told her that the two sniping mechs hadn't moved much, giving her an excellent opportunity.

"Wait here and don't do anything stupid," she hissed at the shaking recruit and inched closer to the edge of the wrecked bulk, gripping her gun tightly all the while. Her eyes met Remnih's again and they exchanged a couple of universal military gestures, reaching an agreement almost immediately.

As if on some hidden cue, they both burst out of their cover at the same time, and Tempest grabbed her field commander around the waist, taking them down the corridor together with a powerful Charge. Instead of hitting a wall like the last time she'd used that particular Biotic power, they stopped directly underneath the support railing the snipers were perched on, momentarily safe from their lethal shots. Tempest then ran back and cast a powerful Throw in an attempt to shake the mechs from their cover. One flew past their heads by mere inches, but the second one hit a sniper squarely in the chest, pulling him from behind a broken neon sign.

One rapid-fire later, the mech exploded mid-air, nearly blinding both Tempest and Remnih. The Asari glanced around to see who had dispatched the enemy, and a small grin pulled at her lips as she saw the Quarian dropping back behind the engine. _At least she's put that SMG to good use,_ the recruit mused briefly before zeroing in on her Biotics once more. Before she could hit the other mech, though, a clear shot rang through the small space, and the other sniper tumbled from the beam.

All was quiet in the wake of their skirmish, save from the crackling of a small fire and buzzing of the flickering neon letters. Tempest stood stock-still in the shadow of the railing and listened to the loud torrent of blood raging through her body, thumping in her ears and drowning out every other sound. Her breathing was coming quickly, in ragged breaths and unevenly. "Shit," she murmured finally, effectively breaking the moment.

"Good work," the field commander came to stand beside her, but there was no happiness in his voice. "These Eclipse bastards will learn their place, no doubt," he remarked as he wiped his bloody fingers into his armor, nudging a dripping piece of flesh with his foot. He spat on the charred meat for good measure and walked away with a snort. The Asari followed reluctantly, not sure what to do.

"What do we do with the dead, sir?" she asked as they reached the cover where the rest of the patrol squad had hidden.

"Don't "sir" me, kid," he answered without looking at her as he kicked the others to their feet. "I'm your field commander, and that's how you'll call me. Are we clear?" His four eyes were angry when he finally turned to face her. "As for the corpses… leave them," he shrugged as the lower pair of his eyes glanced back to the scorched remains. "I'm sure they are what passes for food in some of these districts," the Batarian added as an afterthought.

"In any case, we should get moving," their commander ordered as the others stood up and collected their belongings. "I'll note all of your contributions today, people," he explained as they made back for the base, acting as if they hadn't just blown up an ambush of an adverse gang. _Vets here really aren't fazed by anything, are they?_ the Asari wondered grimly as she followed Remnih.

"Those of you who didn't do shit will be off Omega shortly, mind you," the field commander shouted over their heads as they rounded a corner. "That, or you'll be dead."


	5. Chapter 5

The rest of the day passed in a blur for the Asari. People shuffled around her – the HQ was bustling with business at this time of day – shoving her in all directions and throwing choice words at her when she didn't get out of the way fast enough.

The moment their decimated group had returned from patrol Remnih had dismissed them all, telling them to find something to do elsewhere; he had some supposed paperwork to fill out. Did mercenary groups have paperwork? It sounded **slightly **improbable, but Tempest chose not to waste time musing about the stupidity of the statement and rather focused on finding something to occupy herself with. She was still a little fidgety from the fight, and the side of her face that had had the misfortune of meeting a wall up close began acting up again. The Asari groaned in complaint as she rubbed the sore flesh which was still discolored from the painful encounter. _Out of all the possible ways to lose,_ she groaned at the memory when her green eyes darted to the right, spotting someone with a rank patched to their shoulder.

"Excuse me, sir," she inquired once she'd gotten the mercenary's attention. This was the third Turian whose mandibles had twitched at the word "sir", and the Asari was starting to think there was some truth to what the Urchin had warned her about. _It's probably because of their training,_ she spared a second for the thought – all Turians were raised as soldiers, and to leave the military of their homeworld was a great disgrace – but then dismissed it. She had other things to worry about, really.

"What is it, Asari?" the tall alien asked disinterestedly as he turned on his heel. "I was wondering who to go to for jobs," she admitted carefully, studying his impenetrable black eyes for any kind of reaction. The Turian remained expressionless, however, and Tempest's face fell. _These goddessdamned lizard folk!_ Her eyebrows furrowed with frustration, but she quickly smothered the feeling before the man could notice.

"Nothing to do, have we?" he said with a small chuckle – well, that's how **she** perceived it, at least – and patted her shoulder. "Have no fear, girl, there's always some work around here." And with that, he led her through the winding, serpentine corridors of the base, sparing a few words here and taking a few elevators there; mostly, though, he stayed quiet and staid, like the majority of Turians was wont to do.

Finally, the alien stopped before a large alloy gate and hesitated only for a moment before pushing it open. He led his charge into the deceptively large chamber behind the doors, providing her with an unobscured view of the Gewitter's armory.

The Asari behind him let out a small gasp of awe, and her pale green eyes twinkled involuntarily at the sight. If one were listening close enough, they'd probably even hear her giggle, quietly, with dignity, but still; giggle.

"This is… unbelievable," the maiden uttered softly as she bystepped the Turian, lips slightly parted in amazement. There were rows upon rows of neatly stacked assault rifles, handguns, SMGs, sniper rifles… anything a mercenary could ever pine after. "Is this all… Gewitter's?" she asked, eyes still sparkling, as she turned back to the Turian.

The man's mandibles twitched gently before he answered the stricken Asari in front of him, voice flanging with obvious amusement. "Yes, yes it is. Anyway, you're probably familiar with Urchin over there. She'll talk you through it," he nodded once more and then left without any further explanation, leaving a slightly perplexed, but mostly entertained Tempest in his wake.

The said Asari followed his finger with curiosity, only to find herself face to face with the Salarian.

"We meet again, girl," the tall mercenary smirked, pinning her gaze with obvious mirth. "I'm starting to think you're holding a grudge. Want to get me alone and gut me for that incident with the wall, I take it?" Her brow lifted quizzically as she continued to stare down the other woman. The blue-skinned alien blinked in surprise, mouth already opened to answer, when she realized that the Salarian was joking with her.

"Oh, Goddess," Tempest covered her eyes with the palm of her hand, more than a little reluctant to show Pykoll's second-in-command just how embarrassed she felt. _I really ought to socialize more,_ she chastised herself internally while she regained her bearings. When she was finally ready to face the impenetrable gaze of the Urchin again, Tempest lifted her chin warily. To her relief, she found the Salarian smiling, her warm amber eyes peering at her with heartfelt amusement.

It felt very strange to the Asari – smiling, that is – in the middle of a mercenary base. The stories she'd been taught back at the Academy had led her to believe they were mostly a bunch of slow-witted brutes that were in it for the money and little else. It only took a week on Omega, though, to prove her conceptions completely wrong; the mercenaries she'd had the chance to meet were all more or less intelligent, verbally competent and skilled in battle. The last one wasn't really unexpected, but they did employ very varied styles of fighting, instead of charging everything and everyone head-on, like she had thought them to.

"Still here?" the Urchin's chuckle brought her back from her ruminations, and a purple flush that suffused her cheeks betrayed her mortification. _Not __**again**__!_ The Asari bemoaned her situation as she smiled a taut smile back at the Salarian.

"Come on, girl, let's put you to some good use," the other woman shook her head as she led the Asari further into the vast room. They passed a couple others on the way, but most of them were too engrossed in their work to notice them; those that did, though, nodded in respect to the Urchin. That begged the question of how much of Gewitter was really based on money, and how much on loyalty. In view of what she'd seen up until then, it seemed to Tempest that there was far more to the mercenary organization than simple credits.

Pushing that certain line of thought to the back of her head, Tempest hurried behind her guide. The Salarian wove her way amid the tightly packed workbenches and narrow passages between shelves of weaponry. The blue-skinned woman tried to keep her itching hands to herself, but the sight of a beautiful, polished Phaeston nearly had her eyes welling up with tears. When she turned her head, her gaze landed on a whole **row** of Armax Arsenal products, and her heart skipped a beat. Since most Asari manufacturers concentrated on bio-amps rather than on weaponry, the Turians supplied most arms for the Commandos; thus it was that the blue-skinned woman was very familiar with all types of weapons they exported, from shotguns to sniper rifles. She preferred certain guns, sure, but she wouldn't have passed those few years at the Academy if she weren't proficient with all of them. Their drill sergeant – that tough bitch Marjolaine Kero – was always shouting at them to be prepared for anything, with anything. Sound advice, naturally, but it was much harder living by it than just understanding its point. Tempest – among other things – liked to think that she'd grasped the essence of her ex-commander's motto.

"Recruit!"

The Asari was jerked back to reality once more, finding herself face to face with a slightly less pleased Urchin. "I really hope you don't daydream like that when you're in the middle of a firefight, girl," was her one stern comment, but her usually warm eyes were now glaring at her with reproach. Tempest felt herself shrink underneath the burning stare and barely held back a breath of relief when the Salarian turned on her heel and started walking again. The harried Asari kept pace this time, her green eyes glued to the sleek back moving before her; she couldn't afford being distracted again.

They came to an abrupt stop in front of another door, and Tempest's brow furrowed in confusion. Her lips parted to utter her bemusement, but she caught herself in the last moment, remembering just how accusing a gaze she'd been given before. _Better not annoy her even more,_ she reprimanded herself and crossed her fingers behind her back.

"Here we are, girl," the Salarian said dryly as the door slid open with a gentle hiss. The Urchin stepped aside, revealing a room so messy and full that the other woman stood stricken for a few moments. Her facial expression brought a small smirk to the Salarian's lips as she ushered the Asari inside, leaning on the only unoccupied expanse of the wall.

"See those two boxes of SMGs?" the commander pointed at a pair of nigh bursting crates of guns, smiling wolfishly at her underling. "They're currently out of commission, but I trust that a trained Commando can put them back in order. It's only about a hundred of them, so you ought to be finished by dinner time," even as she was still explaining, all the excitement drained from the Asari's face. _Repair duty? Of all the shit they can give me…_ Tempest balled her fists and remained stock still as the Urchin patted her shoulder. "Enjoy it, recruit," she winked at the nearly bristling Asari and strolled out of the storage room with ease in her gait.

"Fucking Salarians," Tempest grumbled under her breath, staring daggers at the retreating form. _Oh, well,_ she glanced back at the crates, and her face fell. _Repair duty it is._

* * *

When she slumped down in the mess, her slimy ration rattling on its plate, Tempest was the very picture of misery. She kept her dark gaze straight ahead, not even bothering to check if the table was already occupied. They'd just have to deal with her grouchy presence, whether they wanted to or not. The Asari shot such a dirty glare at a neighbor who dared complain that everyone in her vicinity shuffled a few inches away. "Smart," she remarked with a low growl and dug her spoon into the trembling, pasty mass that was her meal.

"You smell of oil, kid," a gruff voice suddenly burst her bubble of momentary peace and she froze mid-movement. Slowly, silently, she turned to her right and pierced the offender with a stare he wasn't going to forget any time soon. It was menacing, shrill and nigh laced with ice; the kind green eyes had turned to two pools of utter hatred. The Krogan wouldn't be deterred so easily, however, and he leaned even closer. His imposing figure towered above her, the cracked brown plates on his skull similar to the slopes of Cyone's mountains. His small red eyes returned her threatening gaze and, naturally, a stare battle ensued. Again, curious, bored mercenaries and recruits gathered around the table, cheering them on and starting betting pools. Most of the credits were on the Krogan, of course, but a few – perhaps those who had seen her little escapade in the mess the day before – chose to put their money on the Asari.

They left with shit-eating grins while everyone else was whining over their loss. The Krogan, instead of throwing a blood-tantrum, guffawed heartily and smacked Tempest on the shoulder. The Asari almost landed face-first in her dinner goop from the force of his hand, but quickly lifted her crackling fists in alarm. There was no apparent danger, however, and the living mountain explained that the gesture was a friendly one.

"Friendly my ass," the Asari shook her blue head in bewilderment at the customs of his species. She knew they were a bloodthirsty, galaxy-trotting mercenary race, but she had never bothered – or needed, for that matter – to learn more about them.

_On the other hand,_ Tempest mused as the Krogan moved to sit beside her, _no time like the present._ As the evening went on, an increasingly bigger smile graced the Asari's features, and the towering mercenary even coaxed a small peal of laughter out of her when he related one of his many battle stories. They bonded over their mutual hatred of the meal rations and the eternal love they held for assault rifles. The passing people shot them surprised and even plain shocked looks, but the pair never seemed to care. They continued to outmatch each other with tales of annoying encounters and finally settled on a tie when it became apparent they'd both met so many irritating sentients in their lives that it rendered the point moot.

* * *

Every next day with Gewitter turned out to be both a pleasing and challenging experience for the Asari. She had come in search of a new life, and what a life had she sought out!

Her curriculum was still filled with things she was less than enthusiastic to participate in, but that's just how it went; and if there was one truly important thing they'd taught her at the Academy, that was it. If you wanted to reach a goal, you had to waddle through oceans of bullshit to get to it; and frankly, Tempest had no qualms about fighting her way through, as long as she was certain that her target was waiting on the other side.

Remnih would drag them off to patrol duty every morning without exception and soon after, the Asari found herself settling into a fairly bearable routine. She was accustomed to sleeping on Spartan beds and therefore got enough shut-eye to still be usable to the field commander. Not all mornings would end as her first, of course – in fact, they rarely encountered any menace whatsoever – but the tall Batarian was still relentless. He refused to finish the rounds until every inch of the perimeter had been scrutinized closely and with all possible care. From an objective viewpoint, Tempest could understand the commander completely and even agree with him; but from where she was standing, it seemed like an utter waste of time.

On her first patrol ever, they simply had the bad luck of encountering an ambush. Despite the various reports and descriptions of Omega that she'd read or received before, none could prepare her for the real thing. Sure, there were shootouts every day – Tempest had trouble sleeping sometimes because of that very reason – and there were hosts of aggressive, ill-disposed mercenaries and enforcers wandering aimlessly around the station, but it was still nothing like the image painted by Council space propaganda.

Tempest sighed as she stared at the small letter she'd compiled on her Omnitool. There were sparse details and even less descriptions; just enough to let her aunt know that she hadn't dropped off the face of the Galaxy. As the orange words gazed back at her, the Asari wondered if she was making the right decision. Perhaps, if she asked prettily enough and worked her hardest… Tempest shook her head to send the silly thoughts away. The Academy would **never **take her back, no matter what she did. It was another thing that she positively loathed about the culture of her species; in some aspects of their lives, they'd stick to traditions no matter what.

At the memory of Kero screaming after her, the Asari shuddered, and unease washed over her body. "That damned bitch," the woman ground out between her teeth as she clenched her fists. The Asari had been a nightmare from day one on the Academy. Stern, unbuckling and set in her ways, the Drill Sergeant was a horror to deal with; sure, she did her job well, but just looking at her statistics told anyone how harsh an approach she had.

The recruit pursed her lips as her fingers ghosted over the flickering interface, irreversibly sending the message. She stared at the Omnitool as if she could follow the virtual path of her letter, hoping dearly that her poor aunt wouldn't be even more devastated than she was before her niece let her know what exactly she was doing. She took a few deep breaths before dismissing the orange interface and slipping off her bed. The other Asari who shared the bunk with her was nowhere to be seen – again – and Tempest was starting to suspect that the woman worked another job as a stripper in one of the many bars on Omega. After all, she certainly had a body for the work. Come to think of it, had she ever seen an Asari that wouldn't fit the bill? Probably not.

With one last glance over her shoulder at the tempting sheets, the recruit stalked away to heed the call of Chief Pykoll.

* * *

"You know why you're here, don't you?" his flanging voice greeted the Asari the moment she set her foot into the room.

Instead of answering, the woman just nodded and stepped closer. She wasn't particularly surprised to see a few other recruits standing beside her. They were all looking different degrees of anxious, nonchalant or excited, and the ex-Commando still couldn't decide with which group she indentified the most. _Probably a bit of all three,_ she mused as she came to a stop along the other four recruits. There were two Batarians, a tall, baleful Turian and another Asari who was sporting a condescending smirk. Tempest's eyes narrowed at the sight of unmitigated arrogance on the woman's face, and immediately she knew where she came from.

"Fucking Thessian nobles," she spat under her breath, her eyes still fixed on Pykoll. "What was that?" the other Asari sneered as she twisted her head in her direction. Tempest simply shrugged, however, and kept her gaze straight ahead. Even when Chief rose from his chair and bystepped his desk to come and stand in front of them, the blue-skinned woman could still feel the burning glare trying to scorch her brain.

"Patience, girls," the Turian laughed and leaned on his table. "There's enough hostile mercs to kill, so spare your anger," his subharmonics carried across the small office and interrupted the brewing feud. "In any case, let's get started, ladies," he clasped his hands and grabbed a pile of datapads off his desk. He gave them all to the recruits and crossed his arms over his chest. "Now read them carefully. Once you sign, the only way you're leaving before the contract is due is with Biotic express or via the airlock," his voice was dead serious, and the small green eyes set deep in his face were nothing but intimidating.

With that ominous warning in mind, Tempest glanced down at the datapad she'd been given. The text was small, but readable, and her eyes quickly scanned the paragraphs for anything suspicious. Everyone else was doing the same, except for the other Asari, whose datapad hung loosely between her fingers while she lounged against the wall. The ex-Commando bit her lip to suppress a comment and focused on her contract instead.

When she finally scrolled down to the fingerprint scanner, her eyes shot up to meet those of Chief Pykoll. He was staring disinterestedly into space, seemingly oblivious to the five recruits in the room. The second she parted her lips to pose a question, however, the Turian turned his gaze to her, his mandibles twitching ever so slightly.

"If you'd press your thumbs on the indicated area, please," the Turian droned out, obviously sick of repeating the sentence over and over again.

Tempest glanced down again, and time seemed to slow as she drew another breath. Two years wasn't much for an Asari, but it **was** mercenary life, and Goddess knew that she could wind up dead the very next day. _And that's different from being a Commando how?_ She pointedly asked herself as the outlined square at the end of the contact glared back at her. Was she really ready for such a commitment? No matter how silly it sounded, and how rash and lawless the life she was enlisting with was, the choice was still a big step for the Asari.

Her gaze slid from the datapad and to the palm of her hand, stilling on pad of her thumb. Her nostrils flared as the young maiden contemplated her future, mind churning with all the possibilities. _Oh, for Goddess' sake, you can do this,_ she thought sternly as her eyes flickered back to the screen before her. For a moment, the reflective surface mirrored her image, and the slightly blurry face of a blue-skinned Asari returned her gaze. _You're Theadora Tevos, damn it!_

She released a breath she didn't know she was holding and pressed her finger on the datapad. With a gentle beep, the swab area blinked from red to green, and her heart skipped a beat.

"Welcome to Gewitter, ladies! May your body count be high and your limb loss low!"


	6. Chapter 6

Looking back on those years, Tempest would often tell herself that it wasn't as bad as it seemed at the time; when she first started with Gewitter , however, her perception was quite a bit different. The days were long, sleep came seldom and always in the small hours, and the jobs were all difficult. Just as Pykoll had told them all in the beginning, Gewitter was a smorgasbord of various certified and non-certified professionals. That was the chief reason why they would take on arduous ordeals labeled as crazy and sometimes even insurmountable by others, and succeeding. Their group covered any and all kinds of work; from private armies, butlers or bodyguards to contract hits, raids and everything in between. Pykoll wasn't picky about the source of money influx and neither were his subordinates; as long as they got paid, ethics never stood in the way of a job well done.

The Asari had her reservations at first, admittedly. Even now, years later, she still wasn't sure she could commit acts as brutal as some of her fellow mercenaries had. Thanks to her skill with Biotics, however, she had never been called upon for the more crude of their contracts.

At first, it wasn't all that different from being a recruit; patrol duty here, a clean-up there… whatever Remnih or the Urchin had her do – or anyone else higher up the chain of command, for that matter – she went about it diligently and precisely. As with any kind of organization, the only true way to rise through the ranks was to excel at everything; that, at least, was Tempest's philosophy, and it had worked very well to that date.

There were still bad days, naturally; similarly to her first field expedition with Remnih, an ambush was always bad news. People died in very gruesome ways, and more than one merc could be seen emptying their stomach of their last ration meal afterwards. The Asari couldn't blame them, really. Seeing another's brains splatter across the corroding metal floors of some desolate corridor in the back alleys of Omega really wasn't an image to go to bed with; not that they'd get much sleep anyway. On more than one account, Tempest had been the one to pick up the remains of her fallen comrades and bring whatever was left back to the base. Everyone else was just too faint of heart to willingly touch the mess that became of a, say, Batarian, after they'd met a rocket launcher at point blank. It certainly wasn't pretty – what else **could** you expect from Omega, really? – but at least it never claimed to be anything else.

The Academy, on the other hand, would always wrap itself in frilly pink ribbons before the public eye. Of course they had a reputation to uphold, and as such couldn't allow any of the dirtier secrets to leak into media. One wrong word, and the precious status of the famed institution would crumble into dust.

Here, you were free to do whatever you wanted, and no judging eyes would ever look down upon you with contempt. Sure, there were people who thought themselves above others, but you could prove them wrong with something as simple as a challenge to a duel. The Asari republics were far to **civilized** to ever openly condone such a thing, and preferred to shower it with scorn just to appear appropriate.

To Tempest, this aspect of Omega was pure bliss. No more pretenses, no more schemes and plotting amongst publicly immaculate Asari. She hated that world of double-standards, hidden by wordplay and allegory, hated it for its fake decorum and all of its masquerade. No-one was who they posed to be, and everyone was such a disgusting, revolting hypocrite that the Asari would retch at mere memories of forced socialization with their likes.

The infamous station sported every sinful, condemned and heinous trait that came to mind, but at least it was open about it. The attitude of most was ruthless and unapologetic; if it wasn't, they usually didn't stick around for long. People were bastards, most of them far worse than those she'd met back on Thessia and Cyone, but they wore it on their sleeves like a badge, like a worthy insignia, instead of slathering it with copious amounts of fake modesty and feigned largesse. Tempest despised such folk from the depths of her very heart, perhaps even more than it was healthy. They stirred a strange instinct in her, a dark, innate impulse that drove her to entertain ideas entirely unbecoming of someone from her background.

That, among many other things, was why she chose to leave the hub of the Republics and Council space altogether, slipping into the other extreme instead. She could always return if she didn't like it there, after all.

In a sense, this was her late Maidenhood. While most of her peers had happily packed their bags and ventured out into the galaxy as soon as they were able, she had remained. Though she wanted all but to stay, the sheer pressure of a family's entire reputation weighing down on her shoulders forced her into submission. It had been a dear wish of her mother's, so Tevos complied. Her initial plan was to abscond a decade or so later – perhaps by way of failing one of the crucial exams – but when her mother passed away on a mission, her heart wouldn't allow it. Her lineage demanded that she stay and both her parent's ghosts set the notion in stone.

Thus she had suffered and studied under the uncompromising Marjolaine Kero, swallowing her words and her pride to do right by her mother. It had borne down unbearably on the maiden, and stole all of her élan from her. Through sheer willpower and determination she had ploughed on through the incessant challenges and grim opponents, across unexpected obstacles and around a plethora of troubles. With every season, her vivacity waned and the coruscant sparkle in her laurel eyes grew dimmer and dimmer, until one day it was gone.

It was also the day that the tired maiden decided to put an end to it all, mother's last wish be damned. The Academy was stifling the Asari, smothering her spirit and bleeding her of her very life-force.

She waited until every other cadet in the room had settled into light sleep, and then, very cautiously, crept out into the deserted corridors of the Academy. The whole night was a surreal experience for Tevos; the wild thrumming of her heart as she waited, breathless, for the patrolling guards to pass by; the winking of her Omnitool as it helpfully pointed out the blind-spots of the cameras; the insane feeling of complete focus that she experienced while slinking through the labyrinthine building; and finally, the unadulterated feeling of freedom as she vaulted herself across the wall and into another chapter of her intriguing life.

They were, all in all, feelings eerily akin to those that she was experiencing now; wild, tumultuous, life-changing. _Liberating._

Tempest was inching through a cramped ventilation shaft that had been closed down for 'maintenance' a few weeks previous, with another two squadmates hot on her heels. She smiled at the irony of her situation as she tried – _quietly_ – to force her way into a particularly small section of the supposedly malfunctioning system. It was a scene so deliciously cliché that she couldn't help but grin as the metal finally gave and she slid in. You could see the famed action vid character, Justicar Gielia, as she employed the technique in many a sequel of the franchise. _Her ducts were always wider, of course,_ the mercenary snorted as she mentally compared the two, trudging on all the while. _And I bet they never smelled of decomposing Vorcha, too, _the Asari added as an afterthought as she passed a distinctly pungent part of the shaft.

She never needed to check if her comrades were still behind her; the excessive amounts of juicy expletives uttered by the pair had her assured that they were no more than a length behind. She wouldn't have spoken anyway, since they were loud enough already, what with their crawling. Not that the sounds of blunt objects hitting something metallic would alert the residents of Omega; quite on the contrary, that noise in particular was woven into the hubbub of the giant station, imbuing it with a piece of its trademark, soothing atmosphere. It was the detectors she was worried about. While they might not alarm the guards, machinery was far less tolerant of such disturbances, and as such needed to be handled with care.

That's why Tempest had been sent on this job in the first place. Its other specifics were much simpler and therefore didn't call for someone of her expertise. It was this stage of the plan and its execution that needed her; a patient, accurate and, above all, stealthy Asari. They weren't called the masters of sabotage and reconnaissance for nothing, especially those who'd undergone the rigorous Commando training.

Tempest, despite the renowned strengths of her species, preferred to wage open combat. One of the things she hated the most was being confined to a small space and forced to fight within those four walls. Not only was it loathed, it was also very dangerous to her health, seeing what kinds of Biotics she liked to use. The bigger, the better, and that tended to backfire horribly in small spaces. Omega wasn't exactly her favorite battlefield, considering its myriad of narrow alleys and exposed scaffoldings, mining shafts and elevators, but it possessed a certain charm that most such settings didn't. There were countless objects usable as cover or, even better, as makeshift weapons. Derelict salvage that one could hurl across the room to fell many enemies at once, broken railings that served in lieu of spears… vaguely, she remembered using a broken skycar once. Her memory overflowed with various experiences, and Tempest had to make a conscious effort to staunch the stream; it was time.

A quick Omnitool scan later, the grate before her squealed sadly as a controlled Warp twisted it into a ball of useless metal that fell to the floor a few meters below them. Tempest descended first, casting a few glances across her immediate surroundings before signaling the other two to follow. Once the trio was again accustomed to freedom of movement, they made their way through the southern reaches of the Kima district, avoiding the few bored guards with ease. Kima was almost entirely controlled by Nakmor Mangara, one of the most ruthless Krogan to ever paint the streets of Omega with the blood of those who would oppose him. The battle-hardened alien was an imposing figure, standing well over two meters tall and with armor so heavy and fortified that it rendered all but a Claymore useless. Tempest had only seen him once, and even then from afar, but it had been enough. The Krogan commanded his forces through sheer presence; no-one with a shred of sanity dared to voice their opinion. It was both fascinating and frightening to watch a single individual wielding so much power with a single _glare_. She'd seen a lesser manifestation of that same ability demonstrated by Pykoll, but he was far too intelligent to rely on that alone. And slightly less intimidating, perhaps. She doubted that anyone but a Krogan with the bloody reputation and size of Nakmor Mangara could ever hope to do the same.

It was because of that exact reason that the mercenaries they'd seen kept their watch of the perimeter lax and cursory; who, in their right mind, would dare intrude upon Mangara's territory?

_Us, apparently,_ the Asari mused as they ducked behind a stack of crates while waiting for a sentry to pass. She turned to her comrades, a Batarian and the Quarian she'd met on that morning patrol a year and a half ago. A small smile broke across her face as she regarded the fellow mercenaries. The taller of the two, Dresh'Zul, was a surprisingly amicable member of his species who preferred to prank people rather than sell them for good credits. Though the Quarian, Syrelle, seemed the least appropriate for the job in the beginning, she turned out to be a scarily competent technician, turning every security system into putty after spending little more than a minute with her Omnitool. While the brown-skinned Batarian was essentially the muscle of their little team, the svelte alien was there for obvious reasons. Her own Botics were to be used only as a last resort, since they tended to attract a lot of unwanted attention; she was there as their leader and guide, seeing as she'd been to Mangara's territory more times than most and knew her way around. Studying blueprints was one thing, but actually experiencing the holographic layout was another.

"You both ready?" she inquired quietly, her eyes flickering between the two. They both nodded, and that was enough for the Asari. After making sure that the guard had gone by, they slinked further down the corridor and quickly took the alley to their right, exploiting the gap in patrol rounds. Only after they were safely inside their target building did Tempest relax her awareness for a notch to commend the other two on their achievement. It was refreshing going out to do something different, Tempest had to admit. All the sneaking around challenged some skills she had been neglecting in the past few months, and it felt good to use them again.

With a last pat on both their shoulders, the ex-Commando dropped into a crouch once more and proceeded up the stairs. Ideally, they'd complete the mission without firing a single shot or killing a single mercenary; ideally. Tempest, always the grim realist, expected at least some form of heightened security at their goal. As usually, she was right.

It was one of the comm. centrals of Mangara's forces, after all, and it would've been extremely suspicious if it had been left unguarded. There were three Vorcha poised idly around the entrance to the room, one more Krogan inside and a Turian lounging by the window with a sniper rifle beside him. Taking them head-on was out of the question, and stealthily picking them off would be far too risky if they wanted to remain undetected. _Distractions and decoys it is,_ the Asari decided as she lifted a fist for the pair behind her to remain still. Her thoughts were a maelstrom of strategies and tactics she once had to memorize to the letter, and her eyes were growing less focused by the second. She even closed them at some point, all in order to more efficiently hunt down and subsequently single out useful thoughts. The process of memorization and recall was inherently far different than that of any other species, since the Asari could exercise far greater control over their nervous systems. It was therefore far easier – if they were focused, of course – for them to remember particular bits of information.

A small, victorious smile blossomed on Tempest's lips as she reopened her eyes with new determination in her gaze. She led the pair back down the stairs and out of the guards' earshot, explaining to them the plan she had hastily contrived, basing it off a few of the aforementioned strategies. When they both nodded their understanding, they fanned out, each set to attend to their assigned task. Syrelle was to blind Mangara's mercenaries at the crucial moment by killing the lights, Dresh'Zul was the decoy and she was the one with the trickiest of duties; to plant the software they'd come to infect their network with. She was certain that despite the distraction the Batarian would undoubtedly provide, some of the guards would stay at the comm. room, and she was best equipped to deal with such an instance.

Then all thought ceased as a series of shots went off in the room at the far end of the corridor, and their plan was put to motion. All three Vorcha that were guarding the doors hastily scrambled, guns held high, to see what the commotion was about. The moment they left the entrance unguarded the Quarian utilized her invaluable tech skills to wrap them all in a shroud of darkness. The little light provided by flickering neon signs in the streets didn't help very much, and Tempest had a clear path to the comm. room. She still had the lumbering Krogan to take care of, though, and something to distract the Turian with. Engaging them directly would've been very unwise and very, **very** suicidal, so she eliminated that possibility. Somehow, she had to make the sniper leave his watchful place at the small window.

She quickly dialed a series of brief instructions into her Omnitool, sneaking down the stairs as she did so. Constant darkness would not do, as she was certain that the Turian had some IR goggles, seeing as he had a sniper perch. Confusion was going to be her ally in this scenario, the Asari decided as she slinked out of the building and pressed herself flush against the wall. Soon after, she could hear the Krogan a floor higher grunt his displeasure as the lights came back, flashing and flickering and all-too-bright. Tempest smirked as her idea came to fruition when the voice of the lizard merc sailed down to her. "I swear I'm going to blast those punks' brains out when I find them," he spit out mercilessly as he shifted away from the window and deeper into the structure.

_Now's my chance,_ she took a few paces backwards and lunged herself up and forth with a powerful Biotic Charge. To her utter horror, however, it turned out she had miscalculated the angle and found herself rushing against a very sturdy wall. **Again.** In the last seconds before collision, she cast a Stasis on herself, effectively stopping in her tracks, albeit in the middle of empty air. The disaster had been avoided, though, and that's what mattered. Now she just had to complete her part and nobody need ever know what had transpired outside the building.

Her gaze fell to the constantly flickering lights in the comm. room and her lips curled upwards in a satisfied grin. At least that was going as planned.

When her fingers finally grasped the window shelf, the Krogan inside had grown from disgruntled to utterly irritated. She had even more reason now to tread lightly; engaging an enraged Krogan mercenary really wasn't on her wish list. She vaulted herself into the room, taking care not to dislodge anything from its place and cause any kind of sound. She planted one foot in front of the other as she proceeded towards the only terminal in the room, barely even daring to breathe. It was madly invigorating, with her heart beating wildly against her ribs and the sound of rushing blood in her head drowning out all the rest. Every move was carefully calculated and measured to get her as far as she could go without disturbing her surroundings.

_Patience and prudence, patience and prudence,_ she kept reciting the mantra in her mind as her fingers lightly trailed over the virtual interface of the terminal. She pulled a small device out of a front pocket on her utility belt and placed it gently on the computer, praying all the while that it wouldn't do something as stupid as beep.

Goddess, it seemed, was on their side that night, because all the small gadget did was clamp down on the terminal and, apparently, start working. She watched the process with one eye on the interface and one on the Krogan still muttering guttural profanities under his breath, standing barely a few meters away. _One turn, and this whole op is doomed,_ she mused darkly as she waited beside the computer. Her gaze zeroed in on the device, which finally released its vice-like grip on the alloy, the light on its side turning green. Tevos grabbed it and quickly retreated the way she came, but not before returning the terminal to its original state.

She landed on the rusty floor soundlessly – courtesy of a couple million Eezo cells – and backtracked to a side alley where she rallied her two comrades. The Batarian came rolling from behind the building altogether – Goddess only knows how he'd managed to evade those Vorcha – while Syrelle appeared beside once she'd turned off her tactical cloak. She clapped them both on their shoulders with a smirk on her face, and then they were off.

* * *

"Told you she'd pull it off without a hitch," said the Urchin with the smallest trace of self-satisfaction in her voice.

"Fine, fine," Pykoll grunted in response as he handed the Salarian a credit chit.

"That's right," she grinned openly now and tucked the winnings in a side pocket. A knock on the door interrupted their antics, and with a small nod of his head, the guards let the invitee inside.

"Tempest," the Chief and his second-in-command greeted her in unison. The Asari nodded in respect and came to a standstill a few paces away from the pair.

"What can I do for you?" she directed the question at no-one in particular, and kept her gaze straight ahead.

Pykoll chuckled and leaned back on his desk, as he was keen on doing. The Urchin remained upright, however, and her amber eyes were submitting Tempest to a scrutinizing gaze. A few moments passed in complete silence, as if the two were contemplating what to ask of her. Her brow furrowed unwittingly, and only after a few seconds she realized what she was doing, schooling her features back into blankness. That triggered a response from the pair, finally.

"Ha!" exclaimed the Urchin and extended her open, three-fingered palm towards the Chief. "Pay up, darling," her mouth curled into a complacent smirk as the Turian pressed another chit into her hand.

"To the Spirits with you, Solus," he grumbled darkly as he crossed his arms over his chest, a sullen expression turning his mandibles upwards.

_Well… That was unexpected,_ Tempest observed the exchange with lifted brows and confusion clearly written all over her face. "Excuse me?" she ventured carefully and drew their gazes back to herself immediately.

"Ah, of course," the Salarian shook her head, but the smile remained on her lips. "Forgive the old kakliosaurs an inside joke or two," her voice was kind as her big eyes settled on the Asari.

"In any case," Chief picked up where the Urchin had left off, "as you probably know, that mission of yours was a test of… capability, of sorts. You've proven yourself more than able in combat, naturally, but leading is something else entirely," his flanging voice grew ever more serious as he continued, and his green eyes dug deep into hers.

"But you do just fine with that too, just as I've predicted," the Salarian couldn't resist one last jibe in Pykoll's direction, and the Turian huffed indignantly in response. "Never mind him," she leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "He's just moping because he lost," she explained the Chief's brooding behavior. "Twice," the Urchin added, far more loudly, and earned another dour mumble from the Turian behind her.

"The purpose of our calling you here is therefore to offer you a different position than the one you occupy presently," she rose again, and her tone became far more formal. "You need not accept, of course," she added, looking at her with every ounce of sternness she possessed. "It's your choice whether you prefer to remain with the common mercenaries, or climb the ranks. I've known many a fighter who liked the front lines better," she supplied an explanation, "they were mostly Krogan, mind you." A small chuckle left her lips as she finished, her intense eyes never wavering from Tempest's.

"So, what will it be?" Pykoll piped up again, pinning the Asari with a look of his own.

Her mind flashed back to the similar moment of her signing the contract, almost two years ago. It felt far less awe-inspiring this time around, that's for sure, but it carried a very familiar weight. Her contract would expire in a month or so, and then she'd be free to go; if she accepted the promotion, however, a new contract would need to be signed, and she'd have to remain on Omega. Did she want to leave, though? Was there anything more enticing to her in the grand galaxy that lay beyond the crime-ridden station? She had found a placating, paradoxically unpredictable routine here, in the embrace of Gewitter. There was the constant breath of death upon her neck, the looming knowledge that tomorrow she could be dead; but it was also that very same feeling that animated her soul and stoked the fire in her eyes. Even with the promise of a safer, calmer life, would she want to leave this all behind?

"I'd love to," Tempest finally responded, eliciting a smile from both the Urchin and Pykoll.

"Excellent!" The Chief retrieved a datapad from his table – one very similar to the one she'd signed back then – and offered it to the Asari. Her keen green eyes read the additional paragraphs carefully, but when she found nothing amiss, she pressed her thumb on the scanning rectangle without regrets.

"Well then," the Salarian placed a warm hand on her shoulder, demanding her attention. "We'll get started tomorrow morning," she added in passing, and was gone. Tempest blinked, perplexed, and turned to Pykoll with a question on her lips. The Turian saw her intention immediately, though, and cut her off before she could even start.

"She means your training," he said it like it was the most normal thing under Omega's dying sun.

"My training," the Asari parroted dumbly, and kept staring at Pykoll. "What training?" she finally expanded, since no further explanation was forthcoming.

His mandibles twitched in a smirk as he responded "You didn't actually think that you'll just get to lead right away, did you? I don't care what kind of stuff you went through before, kid. Here at Gewitter we take things seriously," he shook his finger at the Asari for good measure and turned to occupy his seat behind the desk once more. "Well, most of the time, at least," he added as an afterthought and gestured to the door. "You're free until the end of the day, Asari. I suggest you get a good night's sleep, because Solus is everything but gentle," his subharmonics were dangerously close to mocking as he spoke, and Tempest narrowed her eyes. _By the Goddess,_ she shook her head at the whole thing and slipped past the guards.

When he was sure that the Asari was gone, Pykoll pulled up his Omnitool and dialed a familiar number. "Hey, Solus," the smirk was evident in his voice as he spoke, "pay up. She thought she could start right away," his mandibles shuddered with excitement as he watched the numbers on his account rise again. There was some indistinct mumbling on the other side of the line, but the Chief didn't care in the slightest. "We thank you for your kind contribution," he said with barely suppressed laughter that erupted the moment the Urchin cut the connection.

* * *

**AN:** I'm not particularly fond of these additions, so I promise to keep them scarce in the future. :)

In any case! First, I'd like to thank all of you for your kind reviews and words of support.^^ It does me incredible good to see that someone likes my work and is enthusiastic to see more of it.

Second, I'd like to apologize for my past and future lack of updating. In my defense, I **was** wrapping up my finals. As for the next two weeks, I'll be going on web-less vacation, and will therefore be unable to post any new chapters. That's why I kicked my gears up a bit and wrote this one before I go. I hope it'll last you through my absence. :P

That being said, there's a few other things I'd like to add. I know it says Tevos/Aria in the story specs, and I swear that's exactly what it'll be. The path to there is long and winding, however, and I generally don't like to rush things. So if you were searching for some immediate sexy tiems between our lovely ladies, this is not the story for you, sadly.

I also have to note that there'll be a lot of OCs, as you've already seen. This takes place more than half a millenia before the ME trilogy, and as such there's very few people who are alive then and now. I'll try to explain most stuff in-story, but if there's anything that's vexing you, be it now or in the future, don't hesitate to ask me. I always try to answer my PMs within a two-day span.

There. that's done. :) As always, I welcome any comments and critique. Have fun! :D


	7. Chapter 7

"This. Is. Impossible!" the riled maiden exclaimed angrily, wastefully expending a burst of her Biotics against an unbuckling wall to her side.

The Urchin, much like the corroded alloy barrier, didn't look moved in the slightest. "Of course it is. Now try again," she said, her voice lacking any empathy whatsoever. Despite the many times Tempest had seen the Salarian display her good-natured spirit, this, apparently, wasn't one of them. Her usually warm amber eyes stared at her like two cool volcanic stones; the coiled, fiery power could be seen in those flinty orbs, but it remained safely leashed by the woman's iron will. The Asari had learned to respect her even more for that in the last few weeks following her promotion. In the world of callous mercenaries, her kindness was a rare gem to behold, even if the Urchin didn't flaunt it very often; rare were the people who would rather honestly appreciate it than exploit it as a weakness of character. To that end, the playfulness rarely entered the Salarian's demeanor unless she felt completely at peace with her company, and that wasn't a frequent culmination of circumstances in a place such as Omega.

"Preferably **now**," Gewitter's second-in-command added, her voice only slightly inflected by the impatience wrought into the planes of her sleek face. The sharp tone roused Tempest from her momentary distractedness and with a weary sigh, she wrapped her fingers more firmly around the butt of her SMG.

For the life of her she couldn't understand why she had to go through all the charade of training again, seeing as she'd spent a good portion of three decades being drilled into the prodigal commando. Well, at least she thought that was the case, until becoming subject to Solus' instruction. The Salarian was unforgiving in her aspiration to mold her into an even more efficient killing machine. Not a day went by when Tempest didn't fall into her bed at an ungodly hour, asleep before she even hit what passed for pillows on Omega. The foolish perception she'd entertained, the one of actually being quite **capable**, was nullified within a week under the Urchin's firm and relentless guidance.

Now, they were back to one of the many tricky, yet ingenious drills the Salarian had come up with to test the skills of aspiring corporals among the ranks of Gewitter. Needless to say, this particular lesson in street-fight techniques was the source of many a headache for the young Asari. Her goal was simple, really; her gun, which had been emptied of all heat sinks and was hanging between her fingers - only slightly more useful than a gardening tool - , was supposed to be her only aid in breaking down a ridiculously reinforced door. She stared at the said obstacle, her gaze a picture of fury, and launched herself at it once again.

"What in the name of the fucking Goddess is the purpose of this?" she ground out between her teeth as she slid down the wall, an exhausted look vying for dominance with ire in her green eyes. The Urchin, standing a few feet away and polishing the barrel of her own SMG, didn't seem the least bit fazed at her outburst. Quite on the contrary, even; the smirk curling her thin lips seemed to imply that she had been **expecting** it. With a disapproving click of her tongue, the Salarian placed her cleaned gun back into its holster on her hip, and strode to where Tempest had succumbed into a pile of misery and self-deprecation.

"Now, now," her voice regained some of its usual warmth as she crouched in front of the slumped maiden. "I'm most certain that you can and **do** know this lesson's purpose, dear," she continued as defeated green eyes finally caught her gaze. "Part of being a leader, or at least being in command of **something**, is having to deal with tons of bullshit, every day, in every way," the Salarian said, stressing the seriousness of her words with the intensity of her gaze. "I'm sure you can figure out the rest," she winked as a small smile crept back onto her features, effectively dissipating her stern mask.

Tempest mumbled something incoherent from behind her bent knees, something so affected by an accent that even had the Urchin been a native speaker without the need for a translator, she wouldn't have understood any of it. The maiden added a few Asari curses that her device **did** recognize, however, and the Salarian smirked. "That's right. On your feet and back to work," and with utter ease, the woman slipped from one role to another, assuming her position as the inexorable commander once more.

The blue-skinned mercenary rose with newfound determination and understanding in her eyes. Now that the damnable meaning of the otherwise futile exercise had been revealed, she felt her anger disappear somewhat. She still felt irked – mostly at herself – for having taken so long to grasp its purpose, but her resolve was steely.

_Work through tons of bullshit, Thea,_ she reminded herself as she neared the source of her building frustration for the past hour. _Sounds familiar, doesn't it? Come on, this is home ground for you,_ her inner voice, for once, couldn't annoy her any more than she already was. With decisive gait, the Asari reached the damnable barrier of tempered steel. She cast one last glance to the SMG held firmly in the palm of her hand, before cracking open the well-concealed panel to the side and bashing the obsolete controls until the door slid open with a silent hiss.

The end to her tiring ordeal was surprisingly anticlimactic, and left the mercenary standing there dumbly, at a loss of what to do. The moment was broken by a chuckle on her right, and she turned to face the Urchin who had already crossed the few meters separating them with an easy step. "Not quite what you were expecting?" the Salarian inquired with a quirk of her brow as she swept by the bemused Asari.

"I'm surprised, though," the second-in-command elaborated when she heard more than saw the maiden join her, "I thought you would choose to blast the door open with Biotics," when Solus glanced to the side and met inquisitive green eyes, she added: "A good surprised, mind you," her voice smiled along with her face as she patted the Asari on her armored shoulder. "We've got Krogan for the headlong-into-the-fray kind of jobs," she continued as they rounded a corner, never deterred from her explanation. "In any case, it's your choice how you deal with the aforementioned loads of crap," a slight shrug of her lithe shoulders indicated that, indeed, she could care less. "As long as you keep your people in line and get the job done, the way you go about things remains a matter of personal preference."

"If any of your actions amount to an infraction of Gewitter's rules or the clauses of your contract, let alone plain waste of mercenary lives, however …" the warning note lay heavily on the maiden's consciousness as the Salarian regarded her with a grim, cold countenance. "The pay is higher, but so is the amount of responsibility you get to carry. Screw up, and Pykoll will personally ship you off this bloody station in an unmarked body bag," the icy manner in which the words were delivered had Tempest's mind reeling long after she returned to her quarters.

This time, though, sleep did not come easily despite the utter fatigue that laced her body. The day had been a taxing one – nothing unusual – but there was the added benefit of self-doubt that was now roiling through her insomniac thoughts. Thankfully, the Asari who supposedly owned the bunk above hers was nowhere to be seen again, and thus no-one was there to disturb her late-night ruminations.

Upon arriving back to her bed, she had wearily stripped herself of her armor and undergarments, sneaking off into the shared showers to clean off the grime of the day. All the while through her nightly routine, her thoughts raced, contemplating the invaluable lesson that she'd learned through the seemingly pointless exercise. Briefly, she wondered how the Salarian had come up with the idea in the first place, but dismissed it after a few seconds. _I've got better things to worry about,_ she sternly reminded herself as she absently toweled off. Weaving her way through the labyrinthine dormitories while distracted was a skill all in itself, but, luckily, one that Tempest had retained from her years at the Academy. While the sleeping quarters weren't nearly as disorganized as here, there was a lot more **trippable** stuff lying in wait for an innocent passerby to fall over and humiliate themselves. The ability to avoid all the dangers posed by discarded personal objects was therefore a necessary step in ensuring one's survival in the wilderness of the commando dormitories.

She utilized that very talent as she wove back to her bunk, her mind light years away from Omega and its warring gangs. In a sense, she was still there, of course – after all, her ponderings **did** stem from her would-be position in the hierarchy of one such gang – but her contemplations entertained events and ambitions on a larger scale. Her laurel eyes stared off into nothing as she flopped onto the hard bed, pulling the rough sheets over her weary body.

"Persistence and perseverance," she whispered into the artificial twilight as her eyes finally drifted shut.

* * *

**AN: **I realize this one's much shorter than the previous chapters, but I've had little time as of late. I hope to post something longer in the near future, if circumstances are willing.

Anyway, enjoy.^^


	8. Chapter 8

The harsh sound of plate grinding against plate was like music to her ears. It was the cracking sounds of metal boots crushing the debris and detritus of the Omegan streets that replaced the violins, the tight squeal of alloy as it ran along alloy that sang instead of a choir and the thrum of her own blood, alive and on the brink of boiling, which was the bass. It was like a glorious symphony to drown out the guttural screams leaving the lips of people she felled, one after another. Either way, she didn't much care. It was the beat her Botics pulsed to, the deep-rooted rhythm to which her feet danced as she moved across the narrow battlefield of a back-alley.

Two more shots rang on her right and she was pushed back when the slugs dug into her Barrier. Deterred, but not stopped, to her adversaries' terror; the pair that had issued the attack found themselves fleeing into the opposite direction, but it was already too late. In the moment they turned on their heel to put as much distance between themselves and the enraged Biotic as quickly as they could, the said Asari was already casting a Pull. Their feet left the ground and one of them let out a panicked cry that was soon silenced by an efficient Remnih who emerged out of his deftly picked cover. The pile of bodies collapsed almost immediately after, leaving the tall Batarian in the open; if only there were more opponents to try and take him down.

The man chuckled loudly as he wiped the sweat from his ridged forehead. "Nice work, Tempest," he said with a shit-eating grin plastered on his face. He nudged a mercenary lying face-down in a pool of his own blood, insisting until the body fell to the side with a loud, wet sound. The blue-skinned Asari to his left furrowed her brow in disapproval, turning her gaze elsewhere. Not that she was particularly perturbed by the sight – she'd seen much, **much** worse – but she did have better things to do than watch Remnih disgrace the fallen gangsters. "I'll let Pykoll know we've cleaned the crap out of western Kima," she called out in the Batarian's general direction as she made her exit.

The way back to the headquarters was surprisingly – and thankfully – uneventful. The news weren't very urgent as well, so Tempest allowed herself to wander the black markets of Tuhi for a few precious minutes. It didn't cost much to make the detour, and her armor **was** getting pretty battered in places. She could always take it to Gewitter's chief repairman, but what with her new salary… Her stride paused at a particularly inviting set of heavy plate, and immediately her critical gaze assessed the armor.

When her eyes found the price, though, a cold shiver ran down her spine. Not that she had come to Omega primarily in pursuit of money – there were far less dangerous venues of acquiring a fortune, after all – but it had been one of her goals to hoard some credits on the side. If one wanted to make a stash, however, one couldn't very well spend it on the first fancy armor one stumbled upon. **Especially** when the price was so ridiculously high. While she wasn't exactly an expert, she knew enough about equipment to tell that it wasn't worth the absurd amount of credits by far; so with a last, longing sigh the Asari departed.

When she arrived at Pykoll's office, he was busy as usual, doing ten things at once. Opting not to wait anyway, Tempest reported about their success in clearing out the district. "I really don't know why I bother sending you with Remnih anymore," the Chief shook his tattooed head without glancing away from the datapad in his hands. "You two are better off with commanding your own units. It's a complete waste of resources to have you working the same job." He was still talking to himself and the apparently very important datapad. "Don't think he can teach you anything else anyway," the Turian shrugged and finally lifted his gaze to meet Tempest's.

"You do good work, Asari," he nodded again and settled deeper into his chair. For a long moment, he remained silent as his deep-set eyes regarded her thoughtfully. She was content to stand and wait, and so neither of them moved. At length, the Turian finally spoke again, his calm voice woven with its usual subharmonics. "Solus also tells me you're just about done with the training, so we might as well make it official, whelp," his mandibles twitched in the Turian version of a smile as he rose to his feet. "Come share a drink with us later, then. Your head will explode if you don't let yourself go every once in a while. Even Solus gets wasted sometimes," he chuckled at her incredulous expression as he clapped her on the shoulder. "See you in the evening, then," he gave her a slight push towards the door and the Asari left, wondering what the late hour may bring.

* * *

As it turned out, it brought everything from rambunctious laughter and tall stories of past exploits to plastered Krogan showing off their battle scars and Turians accepting wagers about ingesting levo-protein foods. Tempest herself joined the festivities too, albeit in a humbler manner. Still, the Asari had far less tolerance to the wide selection of alcohols and other substances imbibed, and as such wound up in much the same state as her mercenary fellows. Long into the night they sang, in complete dissonance, the songs of their people, too wild too bother and too drunk to care. Even in her inebriated state, the Asari was still capable of fending off the many wandering hands that tried to worm their way into her leathers. That, in the end, was the reason why she left while the party was still in full swing, stumbling back to the dormitories in the swirling darkness and feeling her way along the walls just in a poor attempt to maintain her balance.

"Goddess-damned, Kakliosaur-fucking inventors of alcohol," she groaned as she dropped onto her bed. Well, **a bed**, in any case. She doubted that its regular occupant would mind waking up next to an Asari, even if the Asari in question was probably passed-out drunk and snoring. You couldn't very well judge people if they were in an exact same state as yourself. Calmed by that last figment of rational thought, Tempest let the blissful sleep overcome her like a soft blanket, and sunk into a well-deserved rest.

* * *

True to her suspicions – not that she remembered them, of course – there was another body beside her when she woke. It was a sleek one, however, and taut with wiry muscle that was usually obscured by clothing. Tempest, dry-mouthed and cranky, propped herself up on her elbows in a half-assed attempt to get a better look at her bed-buddy. _A Salarian, then,_ she derived when the small head horns on top of an elongated skull came into view. With a sigh she looked around, realizing that, indeed, she wasn't in her bed, and then put her hurting mind to other, less demanding matters. Like how to get off the said bed, for example.

After a few minutes of unsuccessful clambering, hushed curses and continual vows to never drink again, Tempest finally fell more than rose from the bunk and stalked off with as much indignity as she could muster in her hung-over state. Upon arriving in the bathroom, the Asari treated herself to a long, cool shower that served both to wash off the alcohol stink and to soothe the pulsing pain behind her eyes. While feeling a modicum better, the former commando was still in a murderous mood as she prowled the dormitories in search of her own bed. It made her smile, at least, to see that she was not alone in her plight. Many other mercenaries and recruits were lying haphazardly across the sleeping quarters, not bothered in the least that they were sleeping on surfaces not designed for that purpose. There were happily passed-out bodies strewn across the floors, just waiting for other fellow drunks to stumble over them.

Still, the Asari somehow managed to avoid most of them – though some fingers **were** hurt in the process – and finally fell onto her surprisingly empty bed. Not one to look a gift Kakliosaur in the mouth, Tempest happily snuggled back into the welcoming embrace of the warm bedsheets, slipping away once more.

* * *

"I hate you," she solemnly declared to the reflection in the mirror. Her voice was hoarse and her head was still pounding as if a convoy of Tomkah had run it over while she was sleeping. To her complete and utter horror, morning did not bring salvation – as the naïve maiden had foolishly hoped – but rather total abandon of her gastrointestinal system. After throwing up the better part of yesterday's meals and all the drink she had poured down her throat in the evening, the Asari finally alleviated the queasiness in her stomach. The feeling of sickness and nausea was not unlike the one she had experienced when she had first seen a dead, badly mauled body; she had to admit, though, that its cause was far meeker.

The image was still vivid in her brain, and she could remember it with ease whenever she closed her eyes. It was part of Commando training to condition the future huntresses, molding them into efficient soldiers that wouldn't stop and falter at a gruesome sight. It was invaluable on the battlefield, of course, but it made the harshness of the technique no easier to bear. After the first decade at the Academy, which was comprised mostly of martial and Biotic training, the cadets moved onto the next set of exercises. Which is to say, they valiantly tried to keep their breakfast down.

The first time was always the hardest. One day, their training group got called into one of the classrooms, without any other prompt than to come. They filed into the room in which they'd received so many other, simpler lessons, waiting for the instructor to explain the purpose of the meeting. No such clarification ever came, though. Instead, the lights dimmed and the wide expanse of the screen flashed with detailed portrayals of heinous, brutal crime. Some – and they were rare – kept it together, more or less. Most of the cadets, however, retched violently and emptied the contents of their stomachs right on the floor which had been mysteriously cleared of all desks and chairs. Clever instructors.

Tevos was one of those who lost their appetite until further notice, right along with her last meal. The first picture that appeared on the wall was that of a young Asari – couldn't be much older than the cadets themselves – who had gotten her skull bashed in by something much more primitive and cumbersome than Botics. The whole thing was a mess of blood, brain matter and some yellowish fluid that mixed with the purple, liquid life in copious amounts. The photo had been taken on a sidewalk of a back alley in goddess knows what downtown. It could've been anywhere really, and it could've been anyone. That, perhaps, was the most disquieting thought of all.

The slideshow was seemingly endless, going on even long after the bravest among her peers had given up on saving face. The instructor, who had remained staid and stoic throughout the whole ordeal, showed them out without a quantum of compassion on her face, already typing away on her Omnitool. That's just how it was back there. No quarter, no mercy; there was a good reason behind the Turians' saying, after all. You didn't get to be the most feared military in the whole Galaxy by slacking around and telling jokes all day. While the cadets **did** know how to relax and enjoy themselves in the little down time they were allotted, everything else was hard, unforgiving work. Three decades of training were already an entire military career for any other species, while their Commandos were only fit for duty after doing that time at the Academy. No wonder, then, that they were the best.

_Most of us, at least,_ she reminded herself as her sobered eyes stared back at her. _Some are… more talented than others. _Bitterly, she turned her gaze away from the mirror and pulled on her utilitarian undergarments. The party was over and done with, and while some were still recuperating from the wild night, most were already off to fulfill their duties for the day. For a non-military organization with no clear hierarchy, she had to admit that it all ran very smoothly.

With a sigh, Tempest donned her battered armor and set out to find Solus. If she was in luck, the Salarian was already up and about; if not, though, she'd just have to spend the rest of her day going over the patrol roster with Remnih. Not that the Batarian was a particularly annoying member of his species, it was just that the Asari still found it strange to work alongside him, when he had been her superior of more than two years. Funny how things can change so quickly in such a short time.

Strapping her loyal SMG to her belt and slinging her assault rifle over her shoulder, the corporal left the dormitories.

* * *

Vitara Solus, Gewitter's second in command, was in no state to do any sort commanding today, be it second or twentieth. With a groan, she rolled off her bed and landed on something uncomfortably hard. Floor, perhaps? No, too much relief, what with all the ridges and crevices that riddled the carapace underneath her. "Aw, fuck," she muttered as realization dawned on her. There followed a lot of shuffling and muffled cursing as the Salarian untangled herself from the body she'd just fallen onto. Finally, she emerged victorious and wobbly on her feet, looking about her sideways room in confusion. "You know, it's not usually this askew," she remarked to herself and lifted one finger to support her theory. Her brows furrowed in confusion when she saw that, in fact, she had lifted two fingers. Another strain of unsavory words left her lips as she stumbled over the various discarded objects in her room and towards the bathroom.

When she had delivered herself into the merciless hands of an icy cold shower, she found that the world wasn't swaying all that much anymore, and now she could at least walk straight. "The glories of alcohol," she snickered to herself as she dressed and left before the other occupant of her bedroom could wake up. The walk of shame became significantly easier to do with years passing, and the Urchin cared very little at this point. In fact, she was doing it more for the sake of the snoring Turian than her own; his mortification would be far greater, after all.

Just as she was rounding the corner to the mess hall, someone else came rushing into the hallway. They fell to the floor in a tangle of limbs and locked armor, cursing all the while. Solus, not amused by the fact that she'd been near **assaulted** after such a trying night, directed her furious glare at the other unfortunate participant in the collision. Her brows shot up in surprise when the Asari smiled sheepishly at her, bidding her good morning. "Tempest," she acquiesced as their group effort brought them freedom of individuality once again. They scrambled to their feet, still chuckling, and the Salarian felt better already. The blue-skinned woman was fun to work with, and if she could choose anyone to meet that morning, it would be her. Most of the time, the Asari was calm and soft-spoken, teasing with grace and subtlety. While her vocabulary wasn't that of a Thessian noble per se, she still had a way of convincing almost anyone to do her bidding without actually employing palpable coercion. That's what appealed to the Urchin the most; that silent, barely tangible manipulation.

The battlefield, of course, was another matter completely. There, Tempest seemed to turn into a mirror image of her civil self, delivering destruction through decisive, yet powerful bursts of Biotics. Rarely had she seen the Asari expend energy when it wasn't strictly necessary, and seeing her waste an opportunity was even scarcer a sight. The corporal fought with vicious determination and vehement fire in her eyes, annihilating her enemies through controlled devastation. There, all the kindness in her features was distorted by eldritch glee and leashed rage merged into a single, terrifying expression. Had Solus believed in any kind of deities, she would have dubbed Tempest as the goddess of vengeance for sure.

She wasn't religious, however, and as such dismissed the silly thoughts before they even had a chance to form completely. Instead, she continued down the hall with the Asari, unperturbed by any further musings. The corporal, as it turned out, was searching for her anyway, and so they set out to do something constructive after a night of utter abandon. Most of the base was still asleep, comatose or barely conscious, so the mess was oddly silent for the hour. The sentries who'd had the misfortune of being on duty that night reported nothing out of the ordinary, so it was business as usual. The two mercenaries shared the breakfast in silent comradeship, electing to savor the quietude while it lasted.

Solus, of course, was still Tempest's superior, but their relationship had long evolved past simple boss-employee dynamic. The Salarian was affable for her race, and the Asari was amicable in her own, unique way. She rarely relied on her species' charm to achieve anything, rather choosing to talk with people openly. It made her seem far more approachable even if she wasn't flashing her goods to everyone, as many of the Asari on Omega were wont to do. The Urchin respected that about the mercenary. Tempest had successfully shaken off the prejudice that followed her species around, yet still managed to make a name for herself.

"So, why did **you** come to Omega?" the Salarian ventured as they were working their gritty, ungrateful way through the piles of paperwork. One might think that a mercenary organization wouldn't have that sort of problems, but one would be horridly mistaken. There were tons of requests to process, various bills to pay, monthly subscription to _'Galactic Gangster' _, _'Daily Devastator' _and _'Terrors of Terminus', _and many other grievances and minor pests.

The Asari shrugged and thought about answering something vague. Something usual. After all, her motive wasn't all that special. She'd be willing to wager that about a quarter of Omega's populace was there for the very same reasons as herself. "Oh, you know," Tempest smiled softly as she hefted another stack of datapads onto her desk. "Nothing extraordinary. Just a maiden trying to find herself. I was always hearing how Omega was the land of opportunities, if you had the guts… So I said, why not? And here I am," she turned her gaze back to a contract in front of her, trying to dismiss the strange feeling of being **scrutinized** as her streak of paranoia manifesting again. The Salarian across the desk simply nodded and calm silence enveloped them once more.

"Did you?" When the Asari looked at her with a perplexed gaze, the Urchin elaborated. "Find yourself, I mean. Omega can be a harsh place. Not that you're lost," she chuckled as the corporal's brow furrowed even further. "This is just me looking after the mental health of our commanders. Can't have you running off screaming if something breaks in there," she gestured at her head with her free hand while signing something off with the other.

Tempest chuckled in response and leaned back in her chair. "I don't know yet. It's fun enough, and Gewitter's pleasantly organized, which can't be said for what I've seen of the other gangs. In all my time here, our territory has only grown, so I can't really complain. Omega isn't getting any friendlier, but I wasn't expecting anything less. I love me a good challenge, you see? If there's no challenge, how can you possibly evolve? That's just my theory, of course. Most people prefer to stay behind the cushioned walls of Council space and enjoy their collective brain corrosion. Opiate the masses and all that," resentment bled into her tone at the end, but she quickly caught herself. Years of self-restraint had taught her how to keep her thoughts to herself, lest she pay the price for speaking her mind. Despite the immaculate appearances, the Asari weren't half as kind or gentle as the general public thought them to be. One revolutionary word, and you bore the stigma for the rest of your life.

Shaking her head to clear out the bitter musings, Tempest chanced a look at Gewitter's second in command. The Salarian was watching her with curiosity etched into her features, but the rest of emotions dancing behind those amber orbs remained inscrutable. More than slightly embarrassed with her outburst, the Asari averted her gaze and buried herself deeper into the work. Goddess knew there was more than enough to keep her busy without having to pretend.

"Nothing wrong with strong opinions, you know," the Salarian replied softly as they both continued with the contracts. There were about fifty new jobs on the desk, and that was counting just the daily offers. They were sifting through the rubbish and keeping the ones that were both interesting and paid well. "Just don't go forcing them on everyone else **too** enthusiastically," she added, jokingly, as the Asari's eyes lit up. "People don't generally appreciate being compelled into their new beliefs at gunpoint. Words, if used well, usually suffice," a mirthful wink in her direction drew a smile from Tempest, and the two shared a moment of silent companionship. The rest of the day passed in quiet for the both of them, save for a few pleasantries they exchanged as they finished.

* * *

When the artificial light was already failing in the Kima district and life was only just beginning for most Omegans, Tempest was returning to the dormitories. She had long gotten accustomed to the tasteless rations they served instead of food –going out to eat every once in a while helped the issue a lot – and heading for her bed with a feeling of a day well spent. Just as her tired body was ready to succumb to the wooing of her mattress, a raucous voice from the bunk above hers startled her back into the world of the living.

"I hear congratulations are in order, **corporal**." It was the Asari who was never there, hanging upside down across the edge of her bunk. Tempest blinked, unbelieving, and even pinched her arm to make sure she wasn't already asleep and dreaming. When the sharp sting changed nothing, she allowed a smile to creep onto her face.

"So it would seem. Should I do the same, though, seeing as I finally get to meet you properly?" she retorted with amusement lacing her voice. The lighter Asari chuckled heartily and rolled onto her stomach.

"Can't see why not, boss," the always absent mercenary grinned as she hung her arm over the edge. Tempest took the proffered hand and shook it, firmly, before releasing her grip.

"How should I call you, then?" she asked, tentatively, as she mirrored the Asari's pose and relaxed on the bed, only she was lying on her back.

"Well," her bunkmate drawled, faking indecision, "I suppose Thyta is fine," she shrugged in the end and disappeared for a few moments. There were sounds of someone struggling with her backpack, and profanities spilled unbridled from above. A second later, the mercenary stuck her head over the frame of her bed again, smiling triumphantly. "Anyway, congrats on making corporal. The Urchin's pretty hard to please, and Pykoll's a caliber of his own," another amused peal of laughter left her lips, but it was her eyes that drew attention, brimful of mirth and twinkling with mischievousness. "And since you just got your promotion, I thought a little celebration would be in order. I know you've just met me, but hey! We're fucking Asari. If we don't party, the whole damn Galaxy will kill themselves out of despair. The fact that they wouldn't be getting any notwithstanding," Tempest rolled her eyes at the Asari's antics, but smiled nonetheless.

"What did you have in mind?" the newly anointed corporal inquired, too curious not to ask.

"As I'm sure you know, being an ex-Commando and all, kamil and teida are pretty hard to get outside of Thessia, seeing as our stuck-up cousins at customs hardly let any smugglers slip. Professionals get through, of course. Enough greased palms and whatnot. The price is fucking ridiculous, though. Had to shout the pants off this green Lyshteni who was trying to sell it for twice its worth. Athame's tits, I tell you! Can't get a good smoke unless you're parked right in the middle of Armali," Thyta was gesticulating wildly while relating the story to an amused Tempest, who tried – and failed – to swallow her laughter.

"Oh, come on! Don't tell me you agree with those assholes on the galactic border. Illium's put such side-fucked laws on export of K&T that it's practically daylight robbery!" the Asari exclaimed indignantly, clearly pissed at the officials in charge of export traffic. "If we had daylight here, that is," she added as an afterthought, grinning. "Anyway! Enough with the rants. Who cares about their sorry jobs anyhow? They'd earn **billions** if they legalized K&T. Well, fuck them and fuck the smugglers, I say! I have it anyway, and I'm gonna enjoy myself no matter what."

The Asari proudly concluded her righteous harangue and whipped out a tiny packet of crushed silver and red leaves. Without further ado, Thyta speckled the fine dust onto a flimsy piece of paper while Tempest watched, fascinated. She'd seen her fellow cadets take similar substances back at the Academy, but she had never been invited to join them, nor did she have any inclination to do so. Her peers never really liked her much, and the feeling was mutual, so socializing with them when it wasn't strictly necessary never appealed to the Asari.

This Thyta was something else, though. They'd never met before, save for a few sleepy glimpses – they both kept strange, yet very different hours – and somehow, the Asari skipped the usual pleasantries completely, acting as if they had known each other for years. She seemed very spontaneous, at ease with herself; as if she didn't give a fuck what other people thought of her.

"Hey, corporal! Boss!" the Asari's hoarse voice cut though her ruminations and she smiled apologetically. _How you manage to zone out on everything and everyone is still a mystery,_ she chastised herself as she accepted the slim cigarette. She turned it over between her fingers, trying to see the finely crushed leaves hidden behind the pale white paper.

"How do you…?" she trailed off and tried not to look the other Asari in the eyes. She was her superior on the ladder of hierarchy, and yet she felt like a newbie next to her. Ridiculous.

"You've never, huh? Well, Athame's tits," the mercenary grinned widely and hopped off her bunk before Tempest could protest. Her silent mortification was quickly swept away by the tide of infectious excitement that was Thyta, and soon the paler Asari was teaching the corporal how to properly inhale. The smoke was raw on her throat and for a moment she wondered if that's how Thyta's voice came to be so hoarse. With a smile she dismissed the thought, however, and tried again.

The sensation was… odd, to say the least. Nothing like she'd ever experienced before, that's for sure. Every sensory nerve in her body was seemingly numbed, transmitting only a garbled motley of feelings. Instead of her usually sharp awareness, everything seemed to be covered with a thick layer wadding, muffling out the world outside.

"What… what is this?" the corporal turned her bemused gaze at her new companion, who was already sprawled across her bed. When an incoherent grunt was all she received in way of an answer, she sighed heavily and let herself fall on the mattress beside the other Asari. "Explain?" she poked the unresponsive mercenary in the ribs until she opened her eyes.

"Can I do that **afterwards**?" Thyta whined with pleading eyes that bore directly into her soul.

"Oh, Goddess," Tempest groaned as she shielded her face from that twinkling gaze. "Fine, fine. Let's just fucking **vegetate** here until whatever that was passes." Grumbling, Tempest turned on her side and crossed her arms over her chest. It was much like inebriation, only without losing one's mind. She could still think clearly – and for that she was grateful – but her body was having a strike long overdue, refusing to do anything until she relaxed properly for once. _It won't kill you,_ her inner voice supplied ever so helpfully and Tempest sighed at her own mind betraying her. She knew though, deep down, that it really was long overdue; so she finally gave up and let herself go.


	9. Chapter 9

It was always hard, starting anew; especially if you were rusty at something. And boy, was Tempest rusty at social relations. Thyta wouldn't be deterred, however, and she happily dragged the reluctant Asari with her whenever their packed schedules allowed. Ever since that fateful night that they'd gotten stoned together, the older Asari wouldn't leave her alone. Not that the corporal minded; quite on the contrary. It had been too long since she'd met someone that didn't care for her past and welcomed her nonetheless. It was a different story with people who were of other species; they couldn't exactly understand what plagued the blue-skinned alien. What Thyta didn't know couldn't hurt her, though, and they happily got up to shenanigans together. Sometimes – though they were just glimpses – Tempest thought she spotted some kind of sadness in the eyes of the other mercenary, but it always passed quicker than she could put her finger on it.

This was one of those moments.

"Hey, Thyta!" the darker of the two called out to the other, but the Asari was seemingly lost in a world of her own. The corporal rolled her eyes and snapped her fingers in front of Thyta's face. Finally, the mercenary was jerked back into the present, smiling sheepishly at her friend.

"Sorry," she muttered and dragged her fingers through the ridges on the back of her neck. "I was… somewhere else," she made a face and pointed to a high-tech gauntlet hanging limply in the lax grip of her fingers. "Anyway! I was looking at this sweet piece of armor before I got carried away." The Asari quickly fell back into her usual self, all the melancholy dissipating from her features. "Don't you think it would look good on that heavy plate you always drag around? Oh, and on that note," her eyes narrowed as she stabbed a finger in her chest. "How can you **wear** that ugly thing anyway? It's horrid, Tempe," Thyta shook her head in mock disappointment and shoved the gauntlet in the surprised grasp of her friend.

"What did you call me?" the Asari's brows climbed her forehead with incredulity as she tried to suppress the laugh in her throat. No such luck. Thyta swatted her arm, but it only served to instigate another fit of snickering. "You didn't just say **Tempe**," the corporal rolled her eyes at her friend's imagination, but dismissed it good-naturedly. "You're impossible, you know," she sighed as she dragged the other mercenary away from her latest victim. The merchant seemed positively relieved when Tempest took the other Asari's hand and pulled her away from his apparently 'side-fucked black market replicas worth less than Athame's left tit'. For the life of her, the Asari couldn't figure out where her friend picked up the insults.

"Do you make them up as you go?" she addressed the question to the inventive Asari, but the lighter of the two just grinned.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" she replied saucily as she jiggled her brows, and Tempest groaned as she slapped her forehead.

"I don't know why I even dare go out in public with you," she threw a jibe her friend's way and earned herself an indignant expletive that would hurt the auditory nerves of any decent being.

Tempest simply smiled, however, content to have somebody at her side that didn't take everything completely seriously. Thyta helped lighten even the grimmest of moods, albeit in ways more often bemusing than not. She always kept a smile on her face, even if the day was bad one and everything was going wrong. The younger Asari had already stopped wondering how the mercenary managed it. Someone once told her that Thyta had grinned in the face of an angry Krogan. And then she went and headbutted the guy, as if laughing at a blood-raging heap of muscle and armored plate wasn't enough. It was a miracle in and of itself that the Asari was even still alive, what with her perilous antics. Luck, apparently, favored the crazy.

"What are you smiling at?" the Asari in question nudged her friend under the ribs to get her attention.

"Just thinking about this mad mercenary I know," she shrugged innocently and took the left alley. "Is it just me, or is this market **intentionally** designed to confuse the shoppers?" the corporal stopped in her tracks and looked around.

Thyta nodded enthusiastically and piped up "I know! That's what I've been saying for the last thirty years!" The Asari beside her snorted in response and shook her head. Sometimes she forgot how long Thyta was on the station. It was surreal, really. She thought that anyone that had spent so much time in the mercenary business would be either dead or severely hardened; the Asari was neither. It was truly mystifying. Then again, so were most of the other mercs that were part of Gewitter. The ones that had been with the organization for more than a decade were all quirky in some way.

_Does it come with the years?_ Tempest briefly mused before dismissing it and focusing back on her excited friend. _I just hope I never get to be this hyperactive,_ the corporal thought to herself as the older Asari dragged her forth with determination. She was chattering on about some Batarian place that served awesome barbecue. Who was she to say no to a real lunch, anyway? It was a rare commodity that Tempest tackled every chance she got.

After the meal in the packed, heated fast-food joint, the two mercenaries returned to their respective duties. Tempest could immediately feel the loss of her bubbly personality, but still welcomed the change in pace. One could only go so long beside someone so easily excitable. The corporal preferred a slightly slower rhythm to her activities, because it enabled her to do many things at once without impairing the quality of her work. It also helped that Solus had a similar pace. They were getting a lot of assignments together these days, but Tempest figured that Chief had finally realized they worked well as a unit. The Asari appreciated the Salarian's ever-present calm and almost palpable kindness.

On the outside, the Urchin appeared to be the complete opposite of Thyta, but they were both almost perpetually positive; that was why Tempest liked spending time with both of them. Solus could be harsh at times; mostly, though, the Salarian worked in focused silence that didn't smother the Asari, but rather offered quiet respite from the fast, dangerous pace of Omegan streets. The world outside seemed to fade away every time they sat down to peruse the intimidating piles of datapads. It was mostly boring work that every mercenary got to do one time or another; not because it was so awful, but because Pykoll **forced** his subordinates to rest every couple of months by burying them in paperwork. It was mind-numbing, but in the very least effective, if not very interesting.

* * *

They were just wrapping up their work for the day when the Salarian spoke up: "Never thought I'd say this to anyone, but you remind me of my mother."

Tempest stood on the other side of the desk, frozen for a few good seconds. Her mouth was hanging open until the sudden dryness reminded her of what she was doing. With a parched chuckle followed by an awkward smile, she tried to regain her shattered composure.

"Excuse me?"

Solus' eyes danced in mirth-laced merriment as she clasped the Asari on the shoulder. "That one never gets old, I swear," the Salarian's smile bloomed even wider when understanding dawned in the other mercenary's eyes.

"You didn't!" the blue-skinned alien gasped in indignation and put a hand over her heart in mock-offense. When their short bout of laughter passed, the Asari picked up her thought. "That's just mean, you know. Shocking people like that. I'm barely over ninety, it's not fair trying to make me feel old," she wagged her finger at Pykoll's second-in-command.

The Salarian merely smiled in response as she neatly stacked the last of their datapads. "Joke aside, you really are akin to her in some ways." Before the Asari could react again, she hastily elaborated: "Not in a bad way, though. You've got that certain spark of excitement and drive in you. She did too. Died during a rather scary experiment on Sur'Kesh, though. Curiosity killed the scientist, they say," the sleek Salarian shook her head at the unwelcome memories. "Wouldn't like you ending up the same way, would we?" Solus quickly recovered, but her eyes never regained that glint of amusement.

Before Tempest had a chance to ask what had actually happened, the Salarian was already up and striding through the doors. The unspoken question died on her lips and she let her hand fall back to her side. With a sigh, the Asari picked up the remnants of her own work and made her way back to the dormitories.

* * *

When she poured herself onto her bed that night, sleep just wouldn't come. She was no less tired than usual, yet dreamland proved as evasive as the target they had been tracking for the past three months. When the image of their prey flashed in her cruelly wakeful mind, Tempest frowned. All their client had provided was a set of blurry, low-resolution stills of camera footage somewhere on Illium. They had dug deeper, of course; inquired with their contacts, employed hackers to attempt and track the target. Nothing.

The mainly Asari populated world was still a relatively young colony, but that didn't excuse their lack of breaks on the case. It was as if the Turian had simply evaporated. That, or he was using some highly illegal, highly advanced cloaking technology. They had a name, too, but every petty criminal knew how to procure a fake identity or two nowadays. It was hardly useful information. The worst of all, however, was the fact that it was the first large contract she was given to complete on her own. It would be tremendously embarrassing – not to say potentially lethal for her career – if she failed.

_I haven't spent the last five years working my ass off just to blow it now,_ the Asari thought grimly as she tossed under the suddenly uncomfortable covers.

Still, she could hardly figure it out while trying to catch some much needed shut-eye, could she? She was positively **oozing** fatigue and her thoughts were either sluggish or jittery – useless in both extremes – not to mention the bone-deep apathy that had started to crawl into her flesh.

Foolishly she had believed that five years of Omega and three decades spent in the care of one of the harshest military institutions in the Galaxy would have her ready for anything. Naturally, the universe always had an ace or two up its proverbial sleeve, if not for anything else than to throw its more complacent residents off their game. Tempest had been caught by such an occurrence just a few days prior and could still feel the psychological aftershocks of the encounter reverberating in her overworked mind.

As if that wasn't enough, everything was topped off with the fact that being higher up the chain of command meant having a lot more shit dumped on your desk. And if there was one thing that the Asari couldn't stomach it was paperwork. Tons upon tons of datapads whose processing she'd postpone until the piles covered three-quarters of her small office. And even then she was wont to find whatever excuse would present itself to escape from the paper-pushing. It was awful, yet necessary. Of course she understood that. Comprehension, however, did little in way of getting her any more invested in the job.

With a groan, Tempest turned around once more and dug her face into the shallow, nigh rock-hard pillow. Whatever vestiges of sleepiness had been lingering about when she had gotten into bed were long gone now; with her luck, this was going to be another of those unwilling wakes, if the start of her evening was anything to go by. Stifling yet another sigh, the blue-skinned mercenary rolled onto her side and bored her green gaze into the darkness of the dormitories.

When she finally managed to silence and calm her breathing, the steady rhythm of Omega began pulsating through her veins once more. It wormed its way between the beats of her heart, thrumming sometimes in sync with it, sometimes in glorious dissonance. Unwittingly, the ex-commando's eyes slipped closed as she listened raptly to the living, screaming amalgam of utter freedom that was the station. Without ever noticing when, the steady roar of the dark nexus underneath her lulled her into a peaceful sleep.


End file.
